The Phoenix who Dared to Rise
by Judababy
Summary: She worried that smiles would be replaced with looks of resentment in being married to what amounted to not much more than a vegetable. This wasn't being left at the altar. This wasn't being strangled in her sleep. This wasn't even having a gun to her head while she performed heart surgery. This was beyond imagine. This was beyond her reach. This was beyond help. 'You were wrong.'
1. Hearts Remote, yet not Asunder

The Chief sat with a thud at the conference room table, frustrated by the past 48 hours' crises. As Chief of Surgery, he was obligated to pry into the lives of his recently-dubbed attendings and find out their intentions for Fellowship, his wife included. His wife. Cristina.

 _He had spent the entire day prior asking resident after resident whether they planned to stay or leave, and most everyone, he discovered, intended to seek their Fellowship elsewhere. He grew more anxious and fearful with each revelation. Karev was still a possibility, but Hunt wasn't hopeful. Who would give up an opportunity like Hopkins? There would be no question as to his decision, had it been him. Grey was still up in the air as well, though her situation was looking bleak as well, seeing as Boston had made a very compelling case to take her. He had heard from everyone, at least to some degree, except for Cristina. Hunt chuckled, pondering the irony in knowing everyone's considerations except for his own wife's._

 _The attendings in the meeting earlier in the day had simply assumed he of all people would know her intentions, so when he asked Teddy about her offers, the room shared a look of confusion. "Well, she didn't tell you?" Sloan had asked him, obliviously._

 _She had not told him. She had not told him anything in what felt like a lifetime. He wanted desperately for her to talk to him. He missed having her in his bed, sharing the details of her latest surgery, or Meredith's drama, or simply the poorly-baked muffin she had from the cafeteria that morning. He missed stroking her curls as she pressed tightly against him, her steady, confident breaths matching her steady, confident exterior. He missed her, all of her…even the parts of her he hated._

 _He looked like an anxious child, searching for the most political response he could muster, when Teddy saved him from having to answer. "Columbia and Stanford are playing hardball, but I'm confident that we're still in the mix." He looked at the room and saw anxiety among his colleagues. He saw not only nervousness at the prospect of losing their residents, but also disappointment. He attempted to distract himself by moving on to his other residents, finally closing the meeting with an order for them to find answers as soon as possible. The Great Migration was a bitch._

 _He stole a moment of peace from the tragedy this day had become in the on-call room, trying to think of anything other than how he was going to manage to replace five of the best residents in the country. He lied on his back staring at the ceiling, wishing this day would just end already. He drifted off to sleep, seeking comfort in the silence the on-call room had to offer. He was startled awake when he heard the door open. He felt a wave of dopamine evade his senses as she entered, closing the door delicately behind her. She stood in front of him silently, a conflicting look spreading across her face. He tossed his blanket aside, sitting up to look at her, accepting the conversation he knew was about to take place._

 _With an audible sigh of frustration, he looked nervously at the ground, then back up at her, and got right to the point. "So, what's it going to be? Columbia? Stanford? I hear Mayo's back in the mix." He said it not with resentment or bitterness, but with defeat. He looked at the floor sadly, praying she would pick option D: Seattle-with him._

 _Characteristically, Cristina remained silent, joining him on the bed. He sighed, his internal struggle brewing to the surface. He wanted to support her; to see her thrive; to be the best in her field, but he wanted to actually see it. She had shut him out, and it pained him. What pained him more was forcing himself to tell her that any choice she made would be a good one, as they were all excellent programs._

 _She seemed to ponder his words for a moment, sitting in silence with him. He nodded his head in acceptance of both her silence and her decision. He saw her look at him from the corner of his eye, but continued to nod, avoiding her gaze. It was far too painful for him to look at her in that moment, knowing she was going to leave him. Leave him. Leave her husband; her lover; her protector._

 _He feigned acceptance, knowing his disapproval wouldn't do him any good, when suddenly her small hands enveloped his face, and her lips were on his. He felt a rush of euphoria, considering for a brief second that she was giving him her answer in the form of intimacy. He thought better of it, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. He stuttered, "Wh-what are you doing?" She focused her eyes on his, stroking his cheek, and the world disappeared. He cared about nothing else for that brief moment in time. He set his eyes on her lips as she leaned in once again, and she took him by storm. Their lips crashed together, and like an electric current, their love was reignited. He gently cradled her neck and relaxed into her, craving her lips; her touch; her body; her love._

 _He guided her body below him, fearing it would be the last time he would be permitted to do so, and indulged in her advances. Her touch was sweet and passionate, but distant…he knew her answer hadn't changed, simply by the way she had taken him, but still he hoped._

 _Upon finishing their love-making, they laid in the bed, breathless for a while, when she moved to lay instead on top of him, painting circles on his chest with her finger. He allowed her to do so, staring intently at her all the while, hoping in vain that this had changed something. Once their breathing had returned to normal, he noticed she had still not made eye contact with him, maintaining a steady movement with her finger along his chest. Finally, she looked at him, and he smiled contentedly, prompting her to speak. "What?" She asked._

 _He could have said anything. "Stay with me." "Don't go." "I love you…" but he knew any of those things would be said in vain, so he settled with, "I'm happy." He looked at the ceiling then, avoiding her stare, and brought his hand to her hair, caressing it; savoring it, knowing it would probably be the last time. He acknowledged to her that he knew this didn't fix anything, and he was right. This fixed nothing. They had problems. They had conflicts of interest. They had resentment. She had made her decision, and he knew it…yet it still drove a stake through his chest when she verbally confirmed it._

 _"I'm leaving" she said simply. The words didn't surprise him in the slightest, but they still left him breathless. He looked up at her incredulously, bitterness showing in his otherwise exhausted expression. She laid her head on his chest then, avoiding his resentful stare, so he looked at the ceiling, sighing in acceptance._

He felt a shiver run up his spine as he remembered that moment. Her warm body, draped over him like a blanket, shielded him from the world-or so he had thought. Instead of shielding him, she had run him over like a freight train, and instead of a blanket, her body was a machine gun, shredding his heart into miniscule, indistinguishable muscle fibers. He pushed this thought out of his head, instead choosing to focus on another of the day's crises.

 _Altman had thrown a bombshell of realization his way the next morning when she revealed her plans to decline the offer with MEDCOM. MEDCOM was her dream job, so for her to deny it was one of the most shocking, incomprehensible notions he could have possibly conjured, but as they say, "you can't make this shit up."_

 _He laid into her in the O.R. later that day, scolding her for refusing the job of her dreams. He demanded answers from her, wanting desperately to understand her reasoning. She stubbornly refrained from answering him, verbally noting his hypocrisy, rhetorically demanding, "Now you're pissed that I'm not leaving?"_

 _He appealed to her military mentality then, asking, "Where is your loyalty? You're being asked to serve your country." This was a mentality they shared, and just one more reason for his confusion. He knew this would push her buttons; would trigger her to respond truthfully to him. He stared her down, unrelenting, and she finally spoke up._

 _"Do you know where we are right now, Hunt? This is the room where my husband died, and no matter how many wonderful and amazing and miraculous things happen in this room, it will always be the room where my husband died. I would love to leave here and never look back, but you're as broken and beaten as I have ever seen you." He looked down at the O.R. table with humility. "And after everything that I've put you through, the tolerance and kindness and friendship that you have shown me…" she choked on her words, stifling the incoming flow of tears. "I am not going to leave you."_

 _Her words hit him hard. He loved Teddy. Of course he loved Teddy and regretted questioning her loyalty tremendously in that moment, but he was strong. He had survived a war for Christ's sake. What she said was true. He was as broken and beaten as he had ever felt too, but he would carry on, brave and strong as he had always done when tragedy came his way. He couldn't let his choices, predicaments, feelings, or anything else affect her life. It would be overtly selfish, and he refused to let her make such a tragic mistake on his behalf, so he did what he had to do. He fired her._

 _She had not taken it well, startled and hurt by his decision. She called him names; accused him of terrible things, but he took it stoically, knowing that she knew. She knew why he was firing her-not for lack of performance, skill, or anything else, but for her own damn good. She had stormed out, and he regretted that it ended that way. He hoped that she would realize what she already knew to be true and come around to him again, but in that moment, he pressed more weight on his already heavy heart, and blew out an exhausted, troubled sigh._

 _It wasn't long before she stormed back into the room, this time crying, and they looked at each other knowingly. They embraced one another warmly and fiercely as she cried into his shoulder. He breathed a sigh of relief knowing that she didn't hate him. Then, Teddy dropped her second bombshell of the day, shaking Hunt to his core by commanding him passionately, "You don't lose her. You fight. You fight for her. You hear me?" Her words struck him like only Teddy's words could. They were full of fire and determination and gave him new strength. He would do just that._

 _He nodded in confirmation, commanding her in equal fashion. "You go. And you be great."_

As Hunt relaxed into the conference room chair, Teddy's words played in his head like a broken record. _"You don't lose her…you fight for her."_ He was already contemplating ways to do this, but now he had to get back to work. The incoming traumas had consumed his day, so he had commanded his receptionist not to bother him with any calls that weren't relevant to anyone dying or Cristina. Now that the day had come to a close, he could take the time to deal with the unrelenting responsibilities of being Chief.

When he pressed play on the answering machine, he expected to hear about budget cuts, lawsuits, and Board meetings…he even wishfully imagined that he would hear Cristina's voice come through the speakers but abandoned that hope as soon as he heard the Boise Memorial Hospital representative come over the speaker. He expressed mild concern in her words, as she said his doctors had yet to arrive in Boise. Her voice was equally unconcerned and seemed to imply that calling about their tardiness was simply a formality, so he wrote it off as a flight delay. A second message indicated that his employees still hadn't arrived. He grew slightly more concerned, but still did not express alarm in the situation. Bad weather, perhaps? Hunt distracted himself with paperwork, still listening to his messages, when Dr. Sheehan came over the speaker a third time. Her voice sounded nervous; her words pressed. This caught his attention, and he looked at the machine as if he were looking directly at her. "We're starting to get a bit concerned here." His heart started to race. What did this mean? Where were his surgeons? He had put them on the plane himself. Why hadn't they arrived? Why hadn't anyone notified him?

He threw the papers down on the table and snatched the phone from its holder the moment the second beep indicated there were no other messages. He called the return number she had left and tapped his knuckles on the desk impatiently. "Come on, pick up," he grunted desperately. Finally, a woman's voice spoke blandly.

"This is Dr. Sheehan's office, Diane speaking."

Hunt spoke with dire urgency, his mind reeling. "This is Dr. Owen Hunt with Seattle Grace-Mercy West Hospital. I need to speak with Dr. Sheehan _immediately_."


	2. Reason, in Itself Confounded

**In honor of my first review, I've decided to post another chapter early. I've truly put my heart and soul into this FanFic over the past six months, so I hope you all enjoy it. I haven't finished, but I have thirty chapters written thus far, so plenty to keep my readers interested while I continue to work on it.**

 **As a huge shipper of Owen and Cristina, I was intrigued by the scenes following the crash in which Cristina was in a state of reactive psychosis, and Owen took care of her. It shocked me to find that there were few to no FanFics detailing these scenes, so I took this task on myself, and it has turned into a most bizarre experience and has really shown me the depths of my creativity (which I formerly thought to be quite shallow).**

 **I have watched the scenes that detail the time during and after the plane crash many, many times to ensure that I stay as true to canon as possible throughout Cristina's crisis. My own input comes in during the parts that** _ **Grey's**_ **leaves out, and within these plot points, I try to create full scenes based on references** _ **Grey's**_ **might have mentioned but didn't elaborate on. When I cannot do that, I use some sort of convoluted, haphazard version of poetic license to create plot points. You'll know them when you read them.**

 **Though for the duration of the crash and the approximate month that follows I follow canon, be warned, I do intend on breaking from canon in the interest of keeping Cristina and Owen together. I was hesitant to write that in fear of revealing too much, too soon, but I felt the need to clarify that to the point I have reached in my story, I have followed canon quite meticulously, but I won't forever. To sum up: If you're an Owen and Cristina fanatic like myself, you will like the diversion. If not, well, you've been warned.**

 **In the interest of not making promises I can't keep, I'm not going to give you exact amounts of times I take between posting chapters, but you can expect no more than a week to pass between postings. I tend to get antsy with these things, especially when they're appreciated, so I will likely post more often than once a week.**

 **If you've gotten to this point in my monologue, you are a bona fide trooper. My "author's notes" won't usually be this long, but I felt the need to get this all out there before I went any further.**

 **Without further ado, chapter two.**

The voice on the other end paused briefly, making Owen believe they might have lost signal. He was about to call back when she came over the phone again, "Dr. Sheehan is in surgery right now. I can-"

"Page her! Page her _now_! Tell her this is a matter of grave importance." Hunt's voice rose several decibels as his knuckles shown two shades whiter with his grip on the phone handle.

"Right away," Diane said after a moment.

It took what felt like a lifetime to get Dr. Sheehan on the phone, and she revealed what he already knew based on the messages. Their plane had never arrived, and she had called the airport and police, who were looking into it.

The next call Hunt made was to the airport. They offered little more information than Sheehan, telling him that the plane disappeared from the radar during their flight, but the operator did not realize it for nearly 20 minutes. Upon realizing the plane had vanished, the operator attempted to contact the pilot via radio, with no luck. He then tried to radio planes along the same flight path, considering the possibility that their display was faulty, and the flight might show up along another plane's radar. Their radars concluded the same: the plane was MIA. The air traffic controller announced the plane's disappearance, initiating a search party for flight BVA8275 from Seattle to Boise.

Hunt listened to this account with immense fear and dread, his heart pounding so loudly in his ear that he could barely focus on the airport representative's information. The Airport Authority listed off the members of the search party. Civilians and military personnel were involved, all performing the same duty, and all aiming for the same result. Pilots in other commercial airplanes were notified and searching from above in their own respective flights, while members of the US Air Force did the same. Civilians on the ground rallied their own search parties, and took point, searching for the missing aircraft where they believed it to have crashed, while again, military personnel did the same.

The mention of the Air Force prompted Owen to ask for the contact information for the General responsible for ordering the rescue mission. "Major General Thomas Collins" the Airport Authority had said. Hunt jotted down the name and number for the Major General, thanked the man for his time, and promptly hung up the phone. Hunt held his face in his hands for a moment and took sharp, deliberate breaths, trying to regulate his oxygen intake.

Once he had regained as much composure as possible, he leaped into action. He paged the two relevant attendings in the hospital, Webber and Torres, to relay the news. _The 9-1-1 page should send them running,_ he thought. Having done that, he dug his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Cristina. Straight to voicemail. He grunted loudly in frustration and tried again. Straight to voicemail.

Webber entered the conference room first, assessing his surroundings. Realizing that no one was injured, he looked at Owen irritably. "A 9-1-1 page, Hunt?" He pointed a finger at Owen, shaking it at him. "You're the Chief of Surgery at this hospital. Now, I know you know better than to pa-"

"The plane went missing." Hunt said simply.

Richard lowered his finger and cocked his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "What?"

Owen looked up at him from his place next to the conference table, teeth clamped shut, and repeated, "The plane. Went. Missing."

"Now hold on," Webber scrunched his eyebrows and shut his eyes, holding a hand up to stop him. "What are we talking about here."

Owen's heartbeat quickened as he pushed off the table and began pacing around the room. "The plane." His volume increased. "The plane that Meredith, Arizona, Mark, Lexie, and Cristina were on, went missing before reaching Boise." Webber lowered his hand and listened with grave intensity. "The air traffic controller announced it an hour after searching for it with his own resources, and the Airport Authority notified the US Air Force, who are searching for it as we speak." He grasped his hair, still pacing around the room. "I've tried Cristina's phone twice, and it goes straight to voicemail." He slammed his hands down on the table once again, staring intently at the wood grain embedded in the conference table.

Webber was silent for a moment before speaking up. "Have you tried the others?" Hunt shook his head. "Okay," he cleared his throat, collecting his thoughts. "You're not going to cause panic in this hospital. You're still Chief, Hunt. You have a responsibility to your employees and to your patients. Do you understand me? Who else did you page?"

"Torres," he replied, more composed.

"Good. Anyone else?"

"No."

"Okay, here's what's going to happen. When Callie gets here, I will let her know the situation. We will try calling the others and notify family members. You are to sit in this room and gather all of the information you can on this rescue. Call _everyone_ involved."

"It may be a recovery effort at this point," Hunt said dejectedly.

"No, no. Don't start this now, Hunt. You have nothing to go off of. There's still plenty of explanation and plenty of hope. Don't give up on them so soon." Webber clasped him on the shoulder. "We will find them. All of them. Alive." Hunt looked into the former Chief's eyes, saw that he was sincere, nodded his head, then leaped into action once more.


	3. To This Troop Come Thou Not Near

**I want to thank everyone who reviewed this last chapter. I'm so glad to see that this story is gaining momentum, as Owen and Cristina stories are somewhat obsolete now, given Sandra Oh's departure from the show four seasons ago. These first three chapters are very Owen-based, but Cristina is coming soon, so don't lose interest yet. I'm very fond of my OC, Major General Collins, and I hope you all feel the same.**

"Mountain Home Air Force Base, how may I direct your call?" he heard a deep, monotone voice state over the speaker.

"I need to speak with Major General Thomas Collins, _stat_." Owen's voice was confident yet urgent as he spoke with the operator. Owen knew that he would be hard pressed to get the operator to dial him through due to the Major General's rank, so Owen had to pull himself together in that moment to reinforce his position. He mustered the strength he needed to remain of stable-sounding mind, even though he could fall to pieces any minute.

The operator was silent for a moment. "If you'd like to speak with Major General Collins, you will have to-"

"My name is Major Owen Hunt. I am a former surgeon for the US Army, and Chief of Surgery at Seattle Grace-Mercy West Hospital. A plane with five of my surgeons disappeared tonight, and Major Collins is in charge of the rescue operation actively searching for it." Hunt was seething at this point, demanding that his authority be recognized. "Put me through to him, _now_ , or I will see to it that you receive the harshest form of discipline for obstructing the progress of an ongoing mission."

"Transferring you over now Dr. Hunt," the operator said, clearly phased by this new information, and immediately, the phone began to ring once again. Hunt balled his fists together and covered his chin, forcing himself to remain calm. He had so far succeeded in not thinking about the worst case scenario, focusing instead on the task at hand, but the longer the phone rang, the more time he had to be alone with his thoughts, and these thoughts centered around Cristina in a mangled mess of body parts, her eyes glassed over, her black curls plastered with blood against her pale white skin in her post mortem state. He felt his hands tighten around one another, his knuckles white as snow, and his fists began to knock against his chin with uncontrollable shaking. _How many damn times has that phone rang?_ He thought, trying to rid his mind of the images taking refuge in his head.

"Major General Collins speaking. State your name and business." _Finally_ , Owen thought.

"Dr. Owen Hunt, Chief of Surgery at Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital in Seattle, Washington. I'm calling regarding the disappearance of the aircraft en route from Seattle to Boise, flight number BVA8275. Five of my surgeons were on that charter flight to assist in a surgery at Boise Memorial Hospital and never arrived. I've been told the plane has disappeared, and you were the Air Force personnel responsible for directing the rescue mission, so my question for you is a very simple one." Hunt had quickly regained his composure and agency, speaking clearly, loudly, and with unquestioned authority. "What are you doing to bring them home?"

Collins sighed heavily into the phone. "Dr. Hunt, are you familiar with military protocol on missing aircrafts?"

"I was formerly a US Army surgeon, so I am familiar with basic search and rescue protocol but am afraid my knowledge on aircraft search and rescue is somewhat lacking. Care to fill me in?" Hunt knew he was being short with Collins, but he hoped the Major General would understand.

"I thought I recognized that name. You're well-regarded among the military community for your service in Iraq. I hope you know that."

Owen nodded, grateful he had not burned a vital bridge amidst his anxiety. "Thank you, sir."

Collins cleared his throat. "I wish I had better news for you, but to cut to the chase, we have yet to receive any new information in our mission. Now, before you say anything," Collins added quickly, hearing Owen try to interject, "remember, it's been less than 10 hours since the plane's disappearance. Let me explain how this works." He heard Hunt sigh in resignation, prompting him to continue. "We have a number of parties responsible for a number of different procedures in finding the aircraft, all pertaining to _why_ the aircraft disappeared. This, in turn, will lead us to the crash site, if all goes as planned. We have one team actively researching the weather conditions at the exact time and place the radar lost track of the plane. This team also contacts pilots flying the same route to determine if that particular area experienced unusual wind patterns or any other sort of disruption. If the pilots' accounts match up, we have found at the very least a piece of the problem and can determine how far off course the plane got before crashing. A different team will investigate the aircraft itself. They will contact Bayview Aeronautics and retrieve, in detail, the plane's condition: when it was last serviced, what those services were for, any complications it had previously in the air, and any malfunctions that particular make and model consistently exhibited. Again, any evidence retrieved will lead us closer to the problem and will allow us to find the crash site more easily. A team will also investigate the plane's pilot. These guys will call Airport Authority and find out exactly who this guy is: his name, his age, his home life situation, his mental stability, any physical or mental hinderances, and so on. We never hope the pilot is the problem, but it's important, as I'm sure you can understand, that we learn everything we can about this guy and rule him out immediately when we find out he was not the threat to your people." Owen grunted his understanding on the other line, feeling utterly exhausted by this conversation. "Lastly, most obviously, and most importantly, we have guys in the air, on the ground, and behind computers actively searching the field for any evidence of the aircraft."

Owen had listened patiently to the man on the other line as he explained the protocol in great detail, growing more irritated by each description. He took a long pause before speaking. "So, you're telling me you have all personnel working on all of these tasks, and you don't have so much as a sliver of evidence?" His voice was not his own. He didn't recognize the venom in his voice as he spoke to Collins.

"Now listen, Hunt. Firstly, I want to assure you wholeheartedly that we are expending _every_ resource we have available at this time. We haven't left a single road untouched." Owen rolled his eyes. That's what they tell patients' families when a patient is critical. "Secondly, your military experience will help you realize, I hope, that 10 hours in an investigation is a mere second in the grand scheme of things. This investigation is just a baby right now, but we are going to work day and night until your people are found. You can trust that much."

This piqued Owen's interest. "What is the average time on an investigation like this?"

"Depends, really. We could find them in the next hour, or it could be weeks. There's not really a good time estimate for something like this."

Hunt's eyes grew three times their normal size. "W-weeks?! With all due respect Major General, 'weeks' is not an option. My people may not have _hours_ let alone _weeks_." His heart rate increased drastically at the thought of Cristina starving to death or Derek attacked by a wild animal or Lexie succumbing to the elements in the freezing northern terrain. That is, if they're even…

"Dr. Hunt…" Collins had paused while Owen imagined the horrors of their situation. "You should prepare yourself for the possibility that your people will not make it home alive. As morbid as it may sound, you know as well as I do that good people don't always make it home from predicaments such as this one. Now, I'm not saying you should anticipate the worst, but you should be prepared for it."

Owen dragged his hands down his face. Again, he had regurgitated that speech innumerable times to patient families pertaining to a risky surgery or critical trauma case. After a great deal of silence, he finally resigned himself to the fact that they would not be found tonight. "Okay," he sighed, defeated. "I need your direct contact number, so I can call you tomorrow for a follow-up."

"Sure thing." Collins listed off his personal number, and Hunt did the same.

As they were finishing up, Owen made certain of one thing. "You'll call me as soon as you get an update?"

"Wilco. You'll know before anyone else, from one soldier to another."

"Right. Thank you, sir."

"You got it. And for the record, I hope your guys are found alive…for both our sakes."

"Me too." Hunt stayed on the line for a few more seconds, then hung up, sitting in the silence of the conference room, drowning in the feeling of dread and hopelessness that had consumed him for the past few hours. Cristina. _His_ Cristina could be dead. He still couldn't process this thought. His mind wouldn't allow it. He half expected her to storm through that conference room door any second to tear into him for one failure or another in their relationship.

It was a beating he would gladly accept, hell, _embrace_ if it meant she were alive and well. Amidst this terrible tragedy, Hunt was confused, pained, exhausted, and depressed, but on one account, his mind was perfectly clear. If she came back alive; if she came back to him, he resolved to do anything to win her back; to protect her, to hold her, to heal her. He wasn't sure about much today, but as far as he was concerned, _that_ was simply a fact of life.


	4. Let the Bird of Loudest Lay

**Thank you all so very much for the reviews. It's so amazing to know that you all like my writing.**

 **Cristina takes the stage in chapter 4, as well as Meredith, Arizona, Lexie, and Mark. I don't consider myself a terribly graphic writer, but I don't hesitate to describe things as I envision them, so be prepared for that more in future chapters, but for this one as well to some degree.**

 **I tried very hard to fill in the gaps that** _ **Grey's**_ **leaves out in the show in this chapter. Since the show gives us the initial view from Meredith's perspective and this story is from Cristina's perspective, I had fun (in a sadistic kind of way) inserting small things to explain what Shonda left out, such as how Meredith hurt her leg and how Cristina woke up from the crash. I fill in much bigger chunks in later chapters, so this is a little taste of the aforementioned "convoluted, haphazard poetic license." I hope you all enjoy.**

 _Why does my face feel itchy?_ she wondered. _And why do I feel like I'm suffocating?_

As her physical strength returned to her, so did her senses. She jerked her head up in a panic. _A plane crash. A freaking PLANE CRASH?! A PLANE crash._ She quickly tried to swing her hands underneath her to push herself up, but a stabbing pain shot through her left arm as she did so. She cried out, fear outlining her features as she attempted to assess her surroundings. After collecting herself, she used her right arm to push herself onto her back, giving her much more lung capacity to breath.

Her hearing returned abruptly, causing her to cry out in horror as she heard a woman wailing close by. She heard flames cracking each time she felt the wind brush her body and plane debris making loud thuds on the ground as it continued to fall from the sky. The sky was literally falling.

Suddenly, it occurred to her. That wasn't just any woman. That was Arizona Robbins. She turned her head in the direction of the screaming and saw only Robbins' torso. Her lower body was blanketed by the airliner's wing. Cristina's senses returned fully to her then as she pushed her body up with her right arm. She headed in the direction of Arizona when she looked up to see a piece of debris plummeting toward the ground. She looked directly to her right and found a possibly-dazed-possibly-dead Meredith directly in its path.

 _Mer_. Cristina hadn't even realized she was right next to her. With excruciating effort, she moved to Meredith's right side and quickly pulled her limp body to lay on its side. It was all she could do with mere seconds before the debris hit and only one useful arm. The shards of metal narrowly missed Meredith's upper body, but unfortunately, Cristina could not move her fast enough to avoid the piece that punctured her left thigh.

 _Dammit_! Cristina stared in horror at the metal shard buried in Meredith's thigh but quickly recovered as more metal crashed around her. She had to move. Fast. She returned Meredith to her back and quickly straddled her. Meredith had shown no signs of life that Cristina could see in the very brief seconds she had to assess her before the debris came falling down. When she looked down on her, her pupils were slowly moving from east to west, indicating that she was at the very least alive.

 _Thank God._ "Mer?" She saw her friend gaze around aimlessly, obviously still not aware enough to know what had happened. That wasn't going to do for Cristina. The sky was FUCKING FALLING for God's sake. She had to snap out of it. "Meredith!" She gasped, helplessly looking around for help. "Meredith!" This time, Meredith seemed to regain some consciousness, her eyes growing and her mouth gaping as she realized she was in danger. "Get up! You have to get up _now!_ " Cristina yanked on her arm with her one good arm. She still didn't budge. Cristina reached full-fledged panic mode, screaming relentlessly in Meredith's face, "Meredith, get _up_!"

Finally, Meredith snapped out of her daze and supported her own weight as Cristina pulled her upright. "Oh God," Cristina moaned, grunting and doubling over in pain. She let go of Meredith and clutched her left bicep, swaying to the side despite her efforts to steady herself.

"How long was I out?" Meredith asked her. Cristina yanked her own body upright once more, gasping for air and pain relief. _The hell if I know. I barely beat you to it._

"I don't-I…" Cristina trailed off, unable to form a coherent sentence through the blinding pain blurring her vision. "I don't know, I-I…" she looked down at her feet for the first time, observing that one foot looked smaller than the other…and a different color. _Shoes and socks, you idiot. That is one foot with a shoe on it, and one with just a sock._ "I lost my shoe." She turned her body left then right, searching for her missing shoe. She couldn't function without that _shoe_. She didn't know why, but she just knew she couldn't get around without it.

As she continued to search for her shoe, she remembered Robbins-or rather, she tuned back in to her entire surroundings and noticed Arizona's wails of pain once more. Panic struck her as she saw Mark stumbling weakly toward them, catching himself with each step with one hand and using the other to clutch his chest. "Where's-Where's Derek and Lexie?" She heard Meredith ask from behind her.

Cristina's mind was elsewhere, so she absentmindedly answered, "I don't-I don't know." She stared once again at her feet then lifted her head, seeming to be directing her comments at someone, but staring simply at the crash site as she repeated, "I lost a shoe."

Meredith regained some strength at that point, walking down through the trees. "What happened?" she asked, her back to Cristina.

This triggered Cristina. This was a question she could answer confidently. "The plane crashed, that's what happened," she passionately responded. "We were in a plane, and it crashed. Plane crash," she practically yelled in Meredith's direction.

"Where is Derek?" Meredith threw her hands down toward her side, limping toward the crash site. Her words echoed through the trees as she turned to face Cristina. She gasped, her body physically heaving along with her breaths as she tried to answer, but Meredith asked again. "Cristina, where is Derek?"

Cristina dropped to her knees, her mouth agape as she remembered a small snippet of what happened. "He was sucked out of the side when we hit the trees." She gestured with her good hand in an attempt to further emphasize her point. "And then the back of the plane it-it came _off!_ " She grasped her hair, gesturing wildly.

Meredith looked at her with eyes that sent shivers down her spine. Blue, intense, and riddled with psychosis, or so it seemed to Cristina. "Lexie was in the back of the plane."

Cristina barely let her finish before continuing her statement of events. "I-I looked to the back, and all I could see was freakin' sky." She spoke rapidly and seemingly more to herself than Meredith. She looked up to the sky then, gazing at the tree branches shading her from the sun above. She thought that she'd heard…

"Where is she?" Meredith asked again, as if expecting a different answer than Cristina had previously given her.

Cristina snapped her head forward to look at Meredith. "I don't know!" she screamed impatiently. "I only have one _shoe!_ "

Suddenly, Meredith stopped, feeling the back of her head. "I'm bleeding…" she observed, examining her blood-stained hand.

Cristina grew overwhelmed suddenly and lost control of herself. At that moment, she understood what "blind rage" was. For a few seconds in time, she lost sight of who she was, where she was, and why she was there. All she knew was Robbins' relentless screaming from beneath the plane wing had to stop, and it had to stop before her rage got them all killed. "Shut _up!_ Shut _up!"_ She screamed in Arizona's direction. Her face twisted in a way that made her nearly unrecognizable. "Shut _UP_!" She screamed one last time in an attempt to attain some quiet. Her methods proved effective as Robbins looked in her direction and promptly stopped screaming.

"Do you hear-Do you hear that sound?" Meredith said quietly, looking around for the source. "Where is that sound coming from?"

Both Cristina and Meredith searched their surroundings, but all in vain, as Robbins lifted a pale, weak finger, pointing toward what she knew to be the source. "There," she mustered. "It's coming from over there."

Mark approached them at that moment, looking weak, barely able to stand on his feet. The three able-bodied survivors walked in the direction Robbins had pointed. Meredith screamed for Derek and Lexie, hoping to hear any signs of life from her sister and husband, both of which had yet to be found. The knocking grew louder, guiding them in the right direction. Then they saw it.

The back of the plane had landed a small distance from the main crash site and was splayed all about the area. The largest portion had a…hand? Yes, Cristina recognized that a hand was stretched from below the weight of the massive debris. She almost spoke up, but Mark beat her to it. "Lexie…" he gasped, hurtling toward his love.

Cristina and Meredith followed shortly after, horrified at the site before them. Lexie was trapped beneath the debris and much like Robbins, only her torso was visible. She had retrieved a small piece of metal and proceeded to bang on the exterior of the plane to alert her family that she was trapped.

Mark dropped to his stomach to get a better look at her, using his newfound strength to help her. "Lexie…Lexie," he whispered, feeling for her pulse. She looked at him with glassed-over eyes. Her skin was as white as a sheet, and she had blood seeping through the numerous lacerations on her head. If he hadn't seen her knocking just moments ago on the side of the plane, he would've taken her for dead.

She smiled so faintly, it was difficult to tell if she was smiling or cringing. "I knew you'd show up." Her words slurred as the blood in her mouth began to collect.

"How is she?" Meredith asked, fully alert. This made Cristina relax, as Meredith was not one to externalize her crazy, and she had done so earlier. The fact that Meredith was returning to normal eased Cristina's mind, allowing her to retain focus as well. They had to help Lexie now.

Mark turned around, his hand never leaving Lexie's pulse point, as if she could crash at any moment. "She's awake and responsive," he said, also regaining his focus. "How're you doing in there?" His voice was gentle, his eyes concerned and pained.

"I'm-I'm great," Lexie said, her words short and weak, her breaths rapid, and her eyes wandering up and around, as if it took so much effort to speak that she had to use every part of her body to communicate.

"Yeah?" Mark smiled at her, putting on a brave face as he soothed her worries. "Good girl. We're going to get you out of here, okay?" He neared his face as close as he could to Lexie to let her know he meant it. He would do everything in his power to save her.

"Okay." She simply said, a delirious smile spreading across her bloodstained face. Her eyes continued to roll back and forth, concerning Mark.

Cristina grunted as they stood from the ground. They walked a brief step from the plane to discuss their medical plan. "She's tachycardic and short of breath," Mark said simply, short of breath himself. Cristina nodded, gripping her bad arm, the pain getting harder and harder to ignore as the adrenaline wore off. She was devising a plan in her head to get Lexie out when Meredith spoke up.

"We have to find Derek," she said calmly, refusing to panic. Her self-control was usually next to none. She had to find a way to stay calm, if they were going to make it through this.

Knowing Meredith would be absolutely no help in Lexie's rescue as long as Derek was still missing, Cristina sent her off, assuring her they could handle Lexie. With Meredith gone, Mark spoke urgently to Cristina. "We gotta get her outa there," he said, his words slurring as he held his chest once more. Cristina noticed, but decided to prioritize. When multiple traumas came through the hospital at once, the protocol was to assess each trauma, label them from least critical to most critical, to…fatal, and act accordingly. Of course, in the hospital, there were more than two doctors, and none of them were injured, but this was the situation they were in, and she had to adapt…like Owen would. Owen…Owen would know what to do. God, how she wished he were here. He would have stepped up as the leader; would have assessed each doctor and split them up accordingly so that no one would have to die. No one would have to suffer the consequences of their incompetence. She shook the thought from her mind. Owen _wasn't_ here now, so she had to do what she thought he would do. She had to make him proud.

She squeezed her eyes shut, mustering the strength to say the words she desperately did not want to say. She sucked in a large breath and said it with confidence. "Pop it back in," she said. _Make him proud,_ she thought as she braced herself for the pain. "Pop it back in," she said with a little more fear in her voice. Mark nodded, and approached her, grabbing her by the shoulder. Cristina lost her courage. "Ah, wait, wait, wait…wait." Mark looked up at her, and she looked up at the sky. She braced herself once more, picturing Owen, imagining what he would be telling her. He would soothe her; tell her it was going to hurt, but only for a moment. It would all be over soon. She imagined his voice in her head. _You can do this. You can do this, and you can save Lexie._ "Okay, do it," she said looking resolutely into Mark's eyes. He nodded and braced himself on her shoulder, straddling his legs to garner more leverage against the ground. He grunted and then…"AHHH," Cristina screamed like a stuck pig as Mark embraced her. She flailed miserably, cursing the day she was born; the moment she got on that plane; the moment she uttered the words "I'm leaving."


	5. Be the Death-Divining Swan

**Thank you to my guest reviewer and Beth for consistently reviewing my story. Again, getting my readers' reviews makes my day.**

 **Because these next few chapters are so short, I'm going to try to post two at a time, every other day for a while, so be on the lookout for these more frequent updates. Let me know what you think.**

Cristina searched for a jacket on the ground, finding one with ease as Mark found a piece of clothing to form a makeshift sling for Cristina. The pain was intense, but not nearly as intense as before. The adrenaline was gone, and she was cold and aching, but she had to try and save Lexie. She had one hand under the plane and one hand in the sling, completely useless. "One, two, _three!"_ His last word echoed through the forest as she and Mark pushed with excruciating effort, screaming as they used every fiber of their strength to move the debris off of Lexie. They released. No budge. "Again!" He shouted, and they pushed again. No budge. Lexie gasped a breath from underneath, her adrenaline wearing off as well. She knew she was going to die there. "Dammit," Mark said releasing his hold on the plane.

Cristina regained her composure. Owen would have a cool, calm exterior, she decided, and so would she. She _had_ to keep cool. She was the only one with a clear head; the only one who was not distracted by her lover being crushed by a plane or missing in the wilderness. She was their only hope. "Lexie, run it down for me." She had to ensure Lexie was still lucid.

Lexie looked at her, focused on the task at hand. "My legs and pelvis are crushed," she said, each word interrupted with quick, heavy gasps. "And I can't feel my other arm, so I'm not sure it's even there anymore, and my chest feels like it's going to explode, so it's probably a massive…hemothorax," she concluded. Cristina looked at her, worriedly, fearing the worst.

Mark interrupted her thoughts. "We-We gotta…We gotta get the oxygen from the plane." It was as if he finally understood the gravity of Lexie's situation; like he just accepted that her wounds were not only critical, but likely fatal. His breathing increased as he gestured toward the plane. "And fluids. She needs water bottles." His voice rose as he tried to think of anything else the plane wreckage could offer. Cristina looked at him with sympathy. She knew as well as he or anyone else did that Lexie was not coming out of this. "And uh-uh-the tubes! The oxygen tubes. We can get her fluids." He grabbed Cristina's shoulder, pleading with her. "Go-go get them," he said, trying to push her in the direction of the crash site. "Why aren't you doing anything?" Cristina looked at him, her lips pursed shut and her eyes begging him to make the conclusion himself so she wouldn't have to say it.

"She knows," a voice came from below the debris. "She knows it won't help," Lexie said, her voice small and weak.

Mark turned his attention back to Lexie. "No," he said resolutely. "You are going to be _fine,"_ he said through gritted teeth. " _Stop_ ," he said louder, shaking a desperate finger at her. "You're going to be fine," he yelled, begging her to agree. This outburst enraged Mark, and he screamed at Cristina, "Go! Go get them!"

She calmly approached Mark and gently pushed him back so that she could talk to Lexie. She saw her hopeless condition and thought they should save their resources to save those that could survive. That's what Owen would have done. Why waste what little resources they had on someone who was undoubtedly going to die? Then she saw Lexie's labored breathing; the unmatched fear in her eyes; her shivering from the cold. She thought of Meredith, and how much she would hate Cristina if she didn't do everything she could to save her sister. "I'm gonna be right back," she finally said, her eyes welling with tears. No, Lexie wasn't going to make it, and Cristina could not be soft, here. She knew she couldn't help Lexie, but she could help the others.

Cristina stood up then, squeezing Mark on the shoulder as she passed him. He immediately replaced her next to Lexie, whispering sweet, encouraging words to the dying doctor. Cristina looked at them for a moment, her heart heavy. She turned then, and headed for the crash site, knowing Lexie would not be alive when she returned.


	6. But Thou Shrieking Harbinger

When Cristina returned to the crash site, she immediately set to work, searching for anything useful for Arizona Robbins' leg. Her resources were limited at best, but she tried to adapt. "I'm going to try and splint this," she said to Robbins, approaching her with a belt and metal debris.

Robbins protested, insisting that she do it herself. "I can do it. No, I can do it," she said, her voice much stronger than before. She tried to distract Cristina. "Jerry needs a C-spine stabilization," she said, focusing on her injury.

"Who's Jerry?" Cristina asked, ignoring Robbins' request, and helping her with the splint. Arizona gestured upward with her head, indicating that Jerry was the pilot.

An annoyed Cristina, abruptly stood, searching again for any supplies she could use to help Jerry. She heard Arizona and Jerry talk about their rescue. Jerry insisted that someone would find them in the next four hours, tops, but Cristina knew better. They were stranded there.

"Did you find Derek?" Cristina had made her way back into the cabin of the plane, praying that she would find something useful there, when Robbins caught her attention.

"Uh, not yet," Cristina said distractedly, searching relentlessly through the dilapidated cabin. "Jerry, do you have any tape?"

"Yeah, uh, in the bulkhead, in the cabin to your left." He stuttered through his response trying, as they all were, to remain calm and alert through the pain.

Cristina didn't stop to hear the rest of his response, but found the tape and "Yes," she exclaimed, a flare gun.

"And Lexie?" Robbins was growing panicked again.

"Not good," Cristina responded, looking down at her. Her response was short and distant. She couldn't think of Lexie right now. "Great, great, great," Cristina's hopes rose as she pulled a piece of panel wood from the cabin. She set the glorified plywood behind Jerry and proceeded to tape his abdomen and head to the wood, stabilizing him as best as she could manage. She asked then about a first aid kit, which he replied there was one in the cabinet to her right, but the cabinet was gone, probably among the other debris.

"Just tell her to hang on for four hours," he said, not realizing the gravity of the situation. Lexie was not going to make it. Cristina pushed aside the ache in her heart, knowing she had given up on her. She was a doctor, for Christ's sake. She was supposed to do everything in her power to save lives. She had taken the damn oath, and up until this point, she had never broken it. She would never forgive herself for leaving Lexie to die under that plane, but she had to prioritize. Meredith might blame her for all of eternity, and she would have to live with it, but she knew at least one person who would understand, and she longed for the moment when she could see him again. She needed him in that moment. She needed him because he would not blame her. He would hold her and assure her that she did the right thing; that Lexie was too far gone. She needed that because her person would not understand that, and she couldn't stand to claim responsibility for that.

In her moment of guilt, she decided to grab some water bottles and an oxygen mask for Lexie. If she wasn't going to survive this, she might as well make her as comfortable as possible. She stuffed them into a backpack and was about to go back when Jerry spoke up. "Hey, hey," he shouted. "Don't leave. I can't feel my legs." She turned to face him. "I'm going to be okay, right?" He needed comfort in that moment, but Cristina was their only rock in this predicament; the only voice of reason. She didn't have time for comfort. She only had time for saving lives.

She leaned into the pilot's pit, picked a pen from the cup holder to his right, stabbed him in the leg with it, simply said, "I'm sorry," then strode out with the backpack.


	7. Love and Constancy is Dead

**One of my favorite lines I have written thus far appears in this chapter. I hope you all like it too.**

 **I want to go ahead and say here that Cristina is my all-time favorite** _ **Grey's**_ **character not because of her wit or her confidence but because of her sheer** _ **will**_ **to do anything she needs to do in a crisis situation. As you'll see, I hark on that quite a bit because the way I interpret it, she is the true hero here.**

 **The reason I say that now is because I believe it's important for readers to pay attention to and remember the upcoming events because, as we all know, Cristina goes through a lot upon her return to Seattle and it's a period of time when she hits a personal low. I don't want my readers to change their opinions of her because of this breakdown she has and the way I portray it, so I encourage you to remember these happenings as we move forward and recognize why I believe Cristina is absolutely entitled to her breakdown/why she shouldn't be criticized for being "dramatic."**

 **As always, thank you all for the reviews. I hope you all enjoy.**

She had resolved to go back to the second crash site with Lexie and Mark when Meredith reemerged, walking stick in hand.

"Cristina," she said softly. Her voice had returned to its characteristically composed tone, but her face screamed panic. "I can't find him. I looked everywhere," she said, her eyes fearful.

Again, Cristina forced herself to be realistic, sparing little feelings. She had to be honest. It exerted less energy. "Maybe…he's fine," she said doubtfully. "Maybe he went for help." Okay, maybe she could stand to be a little compassionate. Meredith was her person, after all.

"Maybe, but I gotta keep looking," she said, her focus on one thing, and one thing only.

Cristina sighed. "No, Meredith." Her face grew somber. "You should come…help Lexie." Meredith was conflicted, but she agreed. What Cristina had implied shook her to the bone, and a flood of guilt rushed over Meredith for leaving her. How could she just leave her little sister, knowing how critical her condition was? If she had had the ability to reason, she would have been able to justify it, but…no. There was no justifying this. She simply lowered her head and limped behind Cristina as they made their way to the site.

The duo hobbled as fast as their injured bodies could manage, but what they happened upon was a tragic sight. Mark's body was shaking uncontrollably on the ground, as he sobbed and whispered loving words to Lexie. Cristina's heart sunk. She knew it was coming, but she couldn't help being overwhelmed with the reality of it all.

"No," Meredith whispered, her eyes bulging from her head. " _No!_ " she screamed, her face contorting in agony. She dropped to her knees and wailed. She bawled uncontrollably for her sister, never imagining she would feel so much sorrow for a sister she didn't even want. This thought spurred her guilt further. How could there have been 23 years of her life that she couldn't possibly ever have _wanted_ Lexie? Lexie was the best sister a person could ask for. She profusely regretted that she only got four years with her. It just wasn't fair.

Cristina thought that if there were ever a time for comfort, this was the time, but all she could do in that moment was sit dumbstruck, cursing any and every god that could possibly allow these people; these _good_ people to go through such a calamity as this. She perpetually shook her head as silent tears streamed down her face. Lexie had never done anything wrong in her life, certainly not anything wrong enough to justify this kind of demise. Fate wasn't just a cruel mistress. Fate was a fucking bitch.

Finally, Meredith stood, prompting Cristina to look up at her hesitantly. "I'm finding Derek," she said resolutely, a revived desperation in her eyes, tears still pouring out of her eyes. Cristina stood too, accepting the task. Lexie was dead. There was nothing they could do about it. Meredith was a few lengths ahead of her, but it didn't take long for Cristina to catch up, considering her injury. They limped deep into the woods, Meredith screaming Derek's name angrily. Meredith would _not_ have another death today. She would _not_ lose two of her own. She just wouldn't.

In the midst of Meredith's outrage, Cristina walked silently, reality striking her in her first moment to really consider what had happened since the crash. "I don't understand how this keeps happening," she said bitterly. A brief sensation of dark humor took over in that moment, as she considered the probability that this could happen _so many times_. Meredith tried to regain Cristina's focus on finding Derek, but Cristina was not having it. "I'm serious," she said, her voice rising, and her tone growing increasingly more bitter. "We keep dying," she said, her voice sharp and unforgiving. "We're in a plane crash, Mer. Like, right now!"

Meredith ignored Cristina's existential revelation, only focused on finding her husband. "If he had gone for help, he would've sent a message, or something." Cristina closed her eyes and sighed. She was not right in the head. It hadn't been long enough for Derek to send them a message, and if he had left a message for them before he left, they would've had no way of getting it.

The two women were in completely different frames of mind, with one not even remotely listening to the thoughts of the other. "I can tell you one thing. When we get out of here, I am getting the _hell_ away from Seattle Grace Mercy Death, and I'm never looking back." She said it with resentment and anger, and she didn't care. She knew she was right, and so did Meredith, whether she would admit it or not.

Meredith made one last plea with Cristina to help her; to listen to her. "Cristina," she said, crying. "I think Derek is dead. He would've come for us by now. He definitely would've come for us by now." She broke down again at this moment, crying hysterically. "I think he's dead. And Lexie's dead. My husband and my sister are _both dead_ , and we are going to die out here too! We are going to _die_ out here-"

"Keep it together! Just keep it together," Cristina had abandoned her existential ranting, and grabbed Meredith by the shoulder, trying desperately to shake her out of her hysteria.

"No, you keep it together!" Meredith hadn't a single clue that Cristina was the only one keeping it together; the only one who was staying composed because she knew it was their only hope in staying alive.

Cristina screamed at her then. "I'm _trying_!" She calmed herself then, knowing that guilting Meredith out of her irrational state was not the answer. "Keep it together anyway," she said holding Meredith's face. Meredith relinquished her anger then, crying for the pain, for the sorrow, for the death of her sister and the disappearance of her husband. Cristina whispered again, "keep it together anyway."

"Cristina," Meredith sobbed. "You're still my person." Cristina's heart broke in that moment, thinking back to her earlier statement. She had told Meredith, her rock, her best friend, her loyal companion that Owen was her person now. She hadn't meant it like Meredith took it, but the damage had been done, nonetheless. "Meredith," she soothed, aiming to explain herself. "Meredith," she started, but didn't get to finish as another familiar voice sounded through the forest.

"Meredith." Both girls snapped their heads in the direction of the voice to find a disheveled, bloody Derek stumbling toward them. They stood in awe, hoping, but realistically assuming it was an exhaustion-induced illusion, that Derek was really standing in front of them. "I heard your voice." he smiled peacefully at the sight of his wife, closing his eyes. "I thought I was dreaming," he said trying to take another step toward them. _That makes two of us,_ Cristina thought.

As Derek took a final step forward, he faltered and fell to the ground, unconscious. Meredith gasped, terrified. "Oh my god," Cristina uttered as they ran to him.

Fate was a fucking bitch.


	8. With the Breath thou Giv'st and Tak'st

**Be sure you check out the previous chapter, as I'm posting two at once. This will be the last group of two that I post for a little while, but I will post as often as I can, again, no more than a week between postings.**

 **Just to keep you all in the know, I will be reverting back to Owen's point of view soon. Just give it a few more chapters.**

 **Thanks for sticking with me.**

"He still has a pulse," Cristina said, breathing a sigh of relief. The moment didn't last long, as she knew hesitation meant death. "Grab him under the arms," she commanded, as she stood and moved to grab his legs. Meredith's hysteria seemed to vanish for the moment, and she quickly did as she was told. Cristina crouched down next to Derek's feet, and with her one good arm, hoisted them both over her shoulder, gripping them down with her hand for dear life. She groaned as she stood, feeling the weight of his body pushing her down. Still she persevered.

They walked silently and clumsily back to the campsite, growing more exhausted with each step they took. After what seemed like hours, they finally arrived and set Derek down at the second crash site. Without a word, Cristina strode determinedly back to the first crash site in search of supplies. "Wh-where are you going?" Meredith asked, looking up from her spot next to Derek.

Cristina turned and said calmly, "I'm just going back to the cabin to get supplies. I'll be back. Just-" she put her hand up, turning away. "Keep him alive while I'm gone." She didn't look back as she stumbled her way through the forest once again. When she arrived at the campsite, Arizona immediately asked the obvious question.

"Did you find him?" Her eyes watched Cristina intently as she rummaged through the cabin, again, searching for any supplies that she could make use of.

"Yeah," she replied absentmindedly. She heard Robbins sigh in relief, not telling her that they were far from out of the water. They were still miles beneath the surface. Suddenly, a wave of excitement washed over Cristina. "I found it!" she screamed enthusiastically.

Arizona looked up hopefully. "The first aid box?"

Cristina smiled, proudly hoisting a black boot above her head. "My shoe!" Why weren't they all celebrating? She could breathe now. She had found her shoe.

Jerry looked down at Arizona. "Is she going to be okay?" Cristina heard the comment and decided to ignore it. None of them _; none_ of them could see right now that she was the only reason they were still able to talk to one another at all. She hoped the day would never come when they could see that. That was not her legacy _. This_ was not her legacy.

Cristina rummaged through the cabin some more before settling on some makeshift supplies and stuffing them into a roller bag. She retreated back to the second crash site with her long lost boot and not another word.

When Cristina returned, she came upon Meredith trying to clean Derek's wound with a drip bottle Cristina had brought from the prior trip with supplies for Lexie. Meredith was muttering apologies to Derek as he moaned in pain at the contact.

"Where's Lexie?" Meredith had obviously failed to tell him of the tragedy during her absence. She simply stared at him, sorrow consuming her features as she breathed, her eyes downcast. "No," Derek whispered, unbelievingly. She sighed, focusing again on cleansing the gaping hole in his arm. He shook his head and turned away, tears filling his eyes as he struggled not to cry.

His eyes landed on Mark, who was sitting against the plane, right where they had left him a long time before. He was visibly whiter now, but his face and demeanor remained unchanged. He was still holding onto her hand, refusing to let go, his knees were positioned against his chest, and his eyes remained staring at the ground.

Meredith's voice broke him from his thoughts. "Okay, let's just keep it together, okay?" she adopted Cristina's earlier advice, finding it remarkably appropriate in their time of trial.

Cristina could not afford to _feel_ in that moment, so she spoke to herself in an effort to focus on finding something useful to use on Derek's hand instead. "Safety pin," she eventually cried out.

"Bring that," Derek said enthusiastically. "Do you have a t-shirt or a bandana?"

"Got it, got it," she replied, striding back over to the disheveled couple.

"Okay," he said, his breathing increasing. "We have to close the wound." He looked down at his arm and anticipated the agony he was about to feel. "Use the safety pin. Weave your way inside and out," he said growing nauseous at the thought of it. "Then put the bandana on top of it, and tape it."

"And wh-what's the t-shirt for?" Cristina asked.

"Put it in my mouth. I'm probably going to scream a lot, and I'm gonna-I'm gonna pass out," he said, feeling the contents of his stomach working their way to the surface. Without hesitation, Cristina pushed the t-shirt into his mouth and held onto it.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Meredith said as she inserted the needle into Derek's tender skin. A muffled cry bellowed through the forest as she made the first puncture. "Please pass out, please pass out," she pleaded desperately, as Derek flailed his legs wildly.

Cristina held the t-shirt diligently as Meredith worked, wishing she had been the one to close the wound. Even with one good arm, her hands would've been steadier than Meredith's, and she would have been more focused on closing the wound rather than Derek's pain, but nonetheless, she did as she was asked.

She didn't have a clock, but the sun was beginning to set, and she knew what that meant. It had long since passed Jerry's approximated four-hour time stretch, and they had still not been found. Cristina wondered then if she had been right; if they were going to die out there, just like O'Malley had died in the freak bus accident, and many of their own had died in the shooting.

 _Seattle Grace Mercy Death,_ she thought, chuckling to herself. _Now that's funny._

It was all but funny, but the nickname was only fitting. They had endured _so much_ tragedy in such a short period of time, and the hospital was the unfortunate connection. She thought back to the hospital, and sighed, bracing a wailing Derek with her hand, praying as Meredith had, that he would just pass out already. _Owen, please make this stop. Please find us._


	9. Twas Not Their Infirmity

**Hello, all. Thanks for the reviews. Here's another chapter for you.**

Derek had passed out halfway through the makeshift stitching, allowing Meredith to complete the task uninterrupted. Once she realized Meredith could do without her, Cristina began digging through the suitcase once again, knowing that darkness was upon them and without a fire, they would either freeze to death or be eaten by wild animals. As much pain and exhaustion as she was feeling right then, neither of those options sounded appealing.

"Matches," she gasped. "Yes, God, finally." She directed her next comment to Meredith. "Fire. We can build a fire," she said staring down at the matches.

"We should. They will see a fire," Meredith responded, finishing up with Derek's dressing. "Let's get a fire started."

Cristina stood, looking over toward the plane debris. "Mark, we need to start a fire." He sat with his eyes closed, his body completely void of movement. "Mark," she said again. Frustrated at his lack of effort, Cristina strode over to him. "You have to help." Meredith, feeling sympathy for Mark, offered to help start the fire, but Cristina blatantly refused. "No, no. He doesn't get to do this. He doesn't get to stop helping." She turned toward him, her survival instincts strong. "I'm sorry he lost Lexie, but she was your sister, and you're still helping. He has to help because," she directed her ranting at Mark again "the sky is falling, Mark."

Derek tried to make Cristina see; tried to give his friend his space, but again, she refused. "No!" She screamed, nearing Mark angrily. "No, if there's one thing I've learned with all the bombs and guns to my head and busses running down my friends is that I'm _not_ interested in dying." And with that, she grabbed Mark by the shoulder and shook. It was then that she realized. He was not in a depressed state. His body had gone limp, and his skin was deathly pale. "Mark?" She tilted his chin up and urged him to acknowledge her. His eyes remained closed, and his head went limp into her hands. His mouth opened then, at least proving he was still alive, but his eyes never opened, scaring Cristina. "Please, please be okay," she whispered, moving him to his back. She gripped the V on his scrub and ripped it apart, showing the horrifying crash injury all of them had failed to notice. His chest was a deep red and splotchy, indicating internal bleeding. "Oh, crap," Cristina gasped, mortified. "Mer!" she screamed, looking down at a dazed Mark, highly concerned.

Both Derek and Meredith rushed to their friend as Cristina laid her ear to his chest. After a moment, she lifted her head, speaking to no one directly when she said, "It's cardiac tamponade."

"You sure?" Derek asked calmly.

"75 percent," Cristina decided, but immediately changing her answer. "70-70%."

Meredith looked at her with doubt. "That's not very sure."

 _No shit_ , Cristina almost said, but thought better of it. "Well, if you want me to be sure, get me an ultrasound." Derek and Meredith nodded then, knowing that she was the best chance they had. Doubting her would not help. "We need to drain his pericardial sac and relieve the pressure, or his heart will stop."

"With what? We don't even have an 18-gauge spinal needle," Derek observed. They paused for a second, deliberating on what to do. "Okay, I got it," Derek finally said, twisting the cap off of a spray bottle. "Use that, right there," he said gesturing toward the long, cylindrical tube attached to the bottle cap.

"Brilliant," she said detaching the tube from the lid.

Meredith sanitized both the pocket knife and makeshift drain, narrating her process, as the only able-bodied person to perform the task. "I'm going in subxiphoid. Knife," she held out her hand and retrieved the pocket knife. As she punctured the skin, Mark jolted forward, arching his back in pain. "Okay, needle," she commanded, as Cristina gave her further instruction.

"Aim for his left shoulder. Wait, don't puncture his heart."

"I know, I know." With one swift push, Meredith broke through the pericardial sac, and blood began spewing out of the tube. Mark groaned in both immense pain and relief as the sac drained of the excess blood.

"Good, excellent. That was it," Cristina exclaimed. This ordeal was over, but Mark was just another one down. How long would it be before they all succumbed to their crisis. How long before Arizona's leg became infected, or Derek's arm? How long after that before the infection spread to the blood stream, ultimately sealing their fate? How long before the matches ran out and they all froze to death? How long before they starved to death, if they didn't freeze? How long would it be before someone found them, already?

How long?

….

Cristina had never been so exhausted in her entire life. She gently laid the tarp holding Mark Sloan on the ground next to Arizona, doubling over and heaving as much oxygen into her lungs as she could manage. Derek, Meredith, and herself had created a makeshift tarp to lay Mark on so that they could return him to the main crash site with Arizona and Jerry. The trek had been a grueling half mile, one that none of them were in any condition to make, but this was not a matter of general health at this point. It was a matter of life or death.

"Mark?" Arizona said quietly. "What happened?" Her concerned look turned to the group's leader, Cristina.

"Tamponade," she managed to gasp out. "Mer did a pericardiocentesis." It was all she could say at the moment, at least until she caught her breath.

Meredith filled in the rest for Cristina. "He's holding on for now," she said, crouching next to Mark.

Arizona looked around slowly at the group and realized someone was missing. "Where's Lexie?" Derek looked at her once, then back at the ground, a look of repulsion on his face. "Where's Lexie?" she asked again, much louder than before.

Mark spoke up then, for the first time in hours. "Lexie's dead," he said simply, a barely perceptible tone of bitterness showing through the weakness in his voice.

Arizona looked at him, anguished, her face contorting, but showing no signs of tears. First her leg, then Mark's heart, and now Lexie was…dead? Meredith broke her thoughts. "So, we should get a fire started."

"I-I've got the matches," Cristina said, digging them out of her pocket and handing them to Derek. "We have five left."

"Make it big so they see," Meredith said distractedly, fussing with Mark's chest incision.

Arizona started to tear up, her voice cracking as she asked the pilot, "What happened to four hours, Jerry?"

Cristina looked up, annoyed at that point. Did they actually believe him when he gave his four-hour estimate? "It's been more than four hours," Meredith said, levelling Cristina's pessimism.

Arizona ranted at the pilot, as if she had indeed believed, or at least hoped in vain, that someone would come for them in four hours or less. Just then, the pilot screamed at the top of his lungs, "CHOPPER!"

The group immediately searched the sky for the plane, hearing the blades pierce the sky with bellowing snaps. Cristina's heart began to race as all three able-bodied survivors began waving furiously toward the sky. They screamed as loud and as long as their lungs and vocal chords would allow, jumping and running around the crash site. _We're going to live. Oh my god, we're going to live,_ Cristina thought, fighting furiously for their rescue.

"Grab the flare gun!" Jerry shouted, and the group sprang into action. Meredith retrieved the flare gun and aimed toward the sky. She pulled the trigger and…nothing. _What the hell?_ "It's not working!"

"Shoot it again!" Cristina yelled in her face. Meredith released the trigger once more and still, nothing came out.

"Give it to me," Derek said calmly, taking the gun from Meredith. He tried to shoot it himself with the same results as before.

The group was all screaming at once as Derek tried furiously to make the gun shoot, but soon enough, the sounds faded, and the helicopter was gone. "Oh, my god! _No, no!_ Come back!" Cristina shouted hopelessly. Their situation had gone from worse to abysmal in a matter of ten seconds. That was their rescue; their one shot at survival, and the fucking flare gun didn't work. How much more could they possibly take of this?

Derek had similar thoughts, frustration rising within him. He had reached his limit. He was done being calm; done pretending that it was helping anyone. He looked at the flare gun momentarily before hurling it into the woods.

Cristina sunk to her knees, dumbfounded. They were actually going to die out there. This would be her legacy: brilliant surgeon whose life was cut drastically short by a freak plane accident. Her thoughts drifted again to Owen. Was he looking for them? Did he even know they were missing? Surely by now, he knew. What if he didn't? What if the animals got to them before he was so much as notified of their disappearance? Mark would be lucky to die of a heart attack at this point. She actually wished it for him. And Arizona and Derek? She hoped their wounds contracted an intense infection that spread so rapidly that they stroked out in their sleep and died. Yes, that was the humane way to go. As for Meredith and herself? Well, they were the unlucky ones, as usual. They would go out one of two ways: animal attack or starvation, possibly a combination of both. If they were too weak from days of no nourishment to fight off a wild animal, they were helpless.

Cristina shook the thought from her head. _No_ , she had come too damn far to give up now. It hadn't even been a full day, and she was already resigning herself to death by animal attack? She stood then, looking around at the dejected faces of her colleagues. "What are you moping around for?" She asked solemnly. "Get up and start helping me with the fire."


	10. Flaming in the Phoenix' Sight

**It's times like these that I'm glad I made no promise to update on a certain day because I haven't posted a chapter in over a week, and I hate disappointing my readers more than anything. I'm sorry if I've done so with this delayed update.**

 **I'm so thankful for my readers and the dedication they have to this story. The reviews are amazing to get.**

 **Quick note: Pay close attention to the last paragraph of this chapter. It comes massively into play later in the story. Next up is Owen's point of view,** _ **finally**_ **, so hopefully you all are as ready for a change of pace as I am.**

A small fire glowed in the darkness of night, providing little comfort for those who could manage to huddle themselves around it. Arizona and Mark were stuck next to the plane, and Jerry was trapped in the cockpit, hindering their chances of being warm that night.

Derek leaned against the plane, listening to Jerry explain that no one could find them, likely because the transmitter had been damaged in the crash. Jerry was relaying information he already assumed to be true, but he listened anyway, his eyes focused intently on the ground. "If the transmitter's damaged-"

"We could be here for days." Derek cut him off, looking up at him with accepting eyes. He was quickly learning to accept his fate. It made it easier to sleep without the hope of rescue shrouding his brain.

He looked over at Meredith, who was huddled next to Cristina by the fire, staring unrelentingly into the flames ahead of her. Her face was stoic; completely void of expression. She was too tired, too jaded, and in too much pain to express emotion. The two had sat in silence for several hours at this point, both of them pondering the same idea, both for different reasons. "Zola," Meredith said, breaking the silence.

Cristina stared at her for a moment, debating whether to talk about the object of her attention. "Owen has got to have figured out we're missing," she said quietly, hopefully. He had, hadn't he? Surely by now, he would have realized they weren't at the dinner; that they hadn't made it back, and he would be actively searching for them. God, how she wished he were there with her. In her exhausted state, she could've sworn she felt his arms wrap tightly around her body, his body pressed up against her, shielding her from the sharp wind that threatened the life of their fire with every gust. She could almost feel his breath on her neck, whispering sweet words of comfort as she pressed herself deeper into his chest. It felt real. She felt warmer knowing Owen was right behind her, protecting her from this cruel reality.

And then he was gone. The whole thing-gone. The biting wind piercing her face came back full-force, causing her to wince from the pain it brought. She realized she had been staring at Meredith for a long while before coming out of her daze. She turned her head toward the crash site. "I know he sent someone."

As the night wore on, the temperature continued to drop. Derek, Cristina, and Meredith had bundled themselves in layers upon layers of clothing, but it didn't help much. Cristina's teeth chattered so rapidly, she thought they would break. "I'm hungry," she announced, knowing that she had said it just five minutes before.

Meredith looked straight ahead, barely acknowledging Cristina. "Think about something else," she said, as if it were really that simple.

Cristina remained silent for a matter of ten seconds before saying it again. "I'm hungry."

Meredith looked over at her. "I have a stick of gum," she said unenthusiastically.

Cristina lightly shook her head. "I don't want gum. I want food." Suddenly, the flame decreased from a decent flame to barely a flicker. "Oh," she said nudging it with a tree branch. "Shoot." The flame finally disappeared, leaving them in a huge pit of darkness. She pulled the matches out of her coat pocket. "Great, we have one match left." She held up the lone match for Meredith to see, but Meredith had fallen into a light slumber. Cristina shook her by the shoulders. "Hey, no sleeping." Meredith stirred. "You have to stay awake."

"Yeah." Her voice was drowsy, and her eyelids were opened a mere fraction.

"Derek," Cristina turned her head to make sure Derek hadn't fallen asleep too. "Derek, you too. I want everyone conscious," she said, this time a little louder so that the others would hear her. "Mer, light the match. Careful, it's our last one." Meredith took the matches from Cristina and struck the match. It lit for a brief fraction of a second, then died out. They both looked at the match in disbelief, then relaxed back into a sitting position, resigning themselves to their fate.

Meredith then dug the piece of gum from her pocket, broke it into two pieces, and gave one half to Cristina. She looked at it for a moment before putting it into her mouth. _It's better than nothing,_ she thought.

She stared around at all of the sleeping survivors, furious that she was the only one awake. Why did she have to be the responsible one? _Pansies,_ she thought, lightly tapping her cheek to keep from falling asleep. A deep rumble echoed through the trees then, reviving her to complete awareness. "Mer," Cristina whispered, her heart racing. Her friend gave no signs of consciousness as she heard the rumbling sound again, this time much louder than before. Whatever was making that noise was getting closer and sounded capable of ripping her to shreds. She had no intentions of getting up and drawing more attention to herself, but then she realized what had probably attracted them. _Arizona,_ she thought, panicking. She grabbed the pocket knife from next to Derek and slowly; cautiously made her way over to Arizona and Mark. As they were mostly inside the plane, she only had to guard one side, the opening of the plane. She sat a short distance from the pair, very careful not to disturb them. If they started to make noise, they would essentially be giving these animals coordinates to their exact location. Cristina chuckled to herself. 30 minutes ago, she was annoyed that they had all fallen asleep on her when she needed them to stay awake, and now, she was praying to every god she could imagine that they wouldn't wake up and get them all killed. Life was a funny, funny paradox.


	11. Two Distincts, Division None

**Thank you, as always, for the reviews, dear readers. To the guest reviewer suggesting I delve into Cristina's psyche more, I have a pretty substantial part of the story dedicated to that particular development, so stick with me for the ride, and I promise you'll get it. I highly anticipate your critique once we get there.**

 **This chapter involves a scene from early on in Owen's storyline and one of my favorite scenes in the whole show. I hope you enjoy my interpretation of it.**

Owen laid awake in bed the following night, unable to sleep with the weight of this disappearance on his shoulders. He had gone to the firehouse, praying Cristina hadn't already changed the locks. She was in the process of selling the house, but couldn't find a buyer in time for the move, so she did what she could: kept it on the market until a seller came along. He hadn't really thought about it, but during closing, she would have to come back to Seattle in person to sign the papers. Would she have even told him? She was so damn hard to read sometimes. He couldn't tell if she wanted a clean break; to leave without so much as a trace, or if she wanted to stay in contact and keep their relationship on the table. They weren't separating on bad terms, she was just moving on with her career, so surely she didn't want to forget they ever happened, right?

Their communication was a train wreck at best. The fault wasn't simply on one or the other. They both failed abysmally on that front. For him, it was a masculinity complex. Guys didn't want to talk about that kind of stuff; didn't want to be seen as vulnerable, especially to the person that relied on them to keep them safe and to be strong through the times they felt weak. Not only were these societal standards key in understanding his communication breakdown, but his PTSD undoubtedly played a substantial role. His cheeks turned red at the thought of his PTSD meltdowns in front of Cristina. It was _embarrassing_ to him the things that she had seen. He thought back to the first time he had shown this weakness; to the time she taught him a lesson in humility he wouldn't soon forget.

 _After their "first date" ended the way that it did, Owen hardly expected Cristina to give him another chance. He could've left it at that. He had no stakes in this game; hell, he hardly knew this woman, but there was something about her that made him want to pursue this, even at the cost of his pride, and so he told her he wanted her to give him a second chance._

 _"You've got some problems. You've got some big problems," she had said. Boy, was that putting it lightly. Nonetheless, by some miraculous stroke of luck, she agreed to see him again._

 _He was happy. They were both happy with the prospect of seeing one another again-or rather, seeing one another for the first time, in reality. Nothing could bring his mood down except one thing._

 _He had seen Cristina in the hallway, walking from the O.R. to the cafeteria. He stared at her longingly, loving the way her black hair rested on her shoulders; how her lips curved up ever so slightly as she eyed him just as longingly. He could be happy with her. He saw something in her that he had never seen in another woman: a future._

 _Sure, it was new and exciting, but he couldn't ignore this new sensation within him that told him she's the one to watch. She was a game changer for him._

 _He had gotten lost in these thoughts when a flash of platinum blonde hair caught his attention. He averted his eyes from Cristina momentarily, praying he had been mistaken. As soon as he laid eyes on her, it all came flooding back._

 _A blasted Humvee, bullets whizzing past his head, one of his own shouting into the walkie talkie-something about an ambush, a severed arm to his left, a foot to his right, and on top of it all, no medical supplies to speak of. The man had an AK-47 wound to the heart, and all he had to open him up with was a damn combat knife. Open him up? He scoffed. He couldn't even begin to think of opening him up until he had something to repair his heart with. Hunt's own heart had never raced faster; his adrenaline had never pumped harder. He could see the tent from where he sat, but barely. Wave after wave of smoke poured in around him, but he decided he could make it if he remembered his training and didn't panic. He hoisted the wounded soldier across his shoulders and threw caution to the wind. He focused on his steps, counting each one as he neared closer and closer to the tent. When he arrived, he placed the soldier on the table, shouting out orders to his comrades, giving his condition and asking for supplies. He slipped a mask on, about to ask for a scalpel, when he realized no one around him was moving. "Wh-" he was about to ask when he looked down at his brother and realized he had stroked out on the way over. He had flatlined far too long ago to revive him now, and Hunt hadn't even realized it. He tore the mask from his face and started hyperventilating, praying that someone would turn on the goddamn rain before he himself had a stroke._

 _'Where's the fucking air' Owen thought, grasping at his scrub top, trying to pry away the clothing that was suffocating him more and more with each moment that passed. He paced the trauma room once, twice, when Cristina barged into the room, confused._

 _"What's going on?" She asked lightheartedly, smiling, thinking Owen was playing some sort of game. Her demeanor rapidly changed as she witnessed her first PTSD episode. "What happened?" She pursued him at a rapid pace, and he actively avoided her advances._

 _"Sorry," he kept saying, forcing his back to her. He had just gotten her back. He had to calm down before he scared her off. He continued his attempts to wave her back and away from him until he could learn to control himself. She wouldn't relent. "Just leave me alone," he said, his movements sporadic and unsure, turning to her, then away from her, until he knew he had to explain. "I saw…someone-someone I knew," he said rapidly, still avoiding her concerned gaze._

 _"You're shaking," she said, watching him intensely._

 _"I can't-I-I-I can't do this. I can't do this," he repeated, continuing his pacing around the room. His breathing increased dramatically. "Please go away," he pleaded. He didn't want her to see him that way. He was supposed to be strong; to pull icicles out of her, not to shake and sob like a child right in front of her._

 _She made an advance toward him, though he didn't realize it until she was directly upon him. "It's okay, it's okay," she said gently embracing his shoulder._

 _He fought it like a toddler having a tantrum. He threw her hands off of his shoulders, screaming "No!" she backed off for the moment. "I don't want this," he said, taking the offensive._

 _Her ceasefire didn't last long, as she then caught him by surprise, enveloping him in her arms from behind. He panicked and tried desperately to throw her off of him. "Okay, I'm applying deep pressure here," she said loudly so that he would hear her._

 _"I don't want this," he sobbed over and over again as she gripped him tightly against her small body._

 _"To relax your sympathetic nervous system." He tried to grab her hands and pull them apart; to release her hold on him, but she fought back hard. Finally, he relented a fraction, crossing his arms over hers and gripping the material on his scrubs. He let the tears fall then, as he let Cristina comfort him in his time of panic. "You will feel more panicked at first. You'll try to resist it," Owen made one final attempt to pry her away from him, attempting to strip her arms from across his chest. "You'll try to resist it," Cristina repeated, "but eventually, you will feel your pulse rate slow."_

 _The fight was over. An odd but beautiful sight they were, a petite Cristina using her entire body to envelope a robust Hunt in a moment of comfort and compassion. Instead of gripping them to pry them away from him, Owen now gripped Cristina's hands over him to keep them there. He hunched his back then, physically incapable of carrying his own weight in that moment, while gravity drug them both to the floor. Cristina propped her chin on his shoulder, refusing to release her grip on him even a fraction, until he decided he wanted her to. She could maintain her post as long as he needed her._

 _"Owen," she said softly; kindly after a moment, when his sobs had quieted to steady breathing. He looked down at her hands, still holding fiercely around him. He grabbed them softly in his own, gently breaking them away from one another. His much larger hands swallowed hers as he brought them to his lips, kissing them tenderly. His mind was still reeling, and he still shook relentlessly, but he looked over his shoulder at her, and she smiled a comforting smile, assuring him that eventually, he would be okay. He let her go then, watching her curiously to see what she would do. She rose, walking to stand in front of him. She extended her hand. "Come on," she demanded without hesitation. He looked up at her, fearing she didn't know what she was getting herself into. "I'm not letting you go into surgery like this. You're coming with me," she insisted, reasserting her hand forward for emphasis. He shook his head and took her hand, appeasing her demands._

 _He didn't say a word as she led him down the hospital halls. They both kept their heads down, fearing the judgmental stares of the gossip hounds of Seattle Grace, should they be recognized. After what seemed like a lifetime, Cristina found an empty on-call room, albeit, an on-call room the size of a broom closet, but an empty one nonetheless, and dragged him inside, closing the door behind her. He stood staring at her, his conflicted stare boring into her. She stared too for a moment, trying to read his expression, but finally came to the conclusion that they weren't going to reach a conclusion that night and climbed into the bed, goading him in as well. He sighed, imagining how comfortable it would be to sleep there, sharing her warmth and quiet. He slid into the bed, settling to her left side, as she withdrew a leather-bound book from the drawer next to her. He first tried to lay on his back, not wanting to make her more uncomfortable than she likely already was by cuddling up against her._

 _It didn't last long as Cristina noticed his discomfort. Without so much as a glance, she took his hand away from its resting place on his stomach and held it in hers against her own abdomen. He looked at her then, mesmerized by the person lying beside him. How could this person who didn't even know him be so understanding; so sympathetic toward this-this lunatic he had probably displayed himself as today? He decided he wouldn't fight her anymore. He was exhausted and on-edge and wanted her comfort and stability more than anything in the world. He let go of his macho exterior and spoke to her sincerely. "I'm sorry," he whispered, awaiting her reaction._

 _Her eyes turned from the book as she smiled down on him. "Okay," she said squeezing his hand and returning to her story. He sighed and moved up the bed to lay his head on her chest. Her brows furrowed as she looked down at his rusty hair, but she eventually accepted it, allowing him to encircle her tiny waist with his arms and settle into her._

 _He remembered nothing else about that day, as he drifted off to sleep. When he awoke, she was also asleep, resting her head against his. She hadn't moved all night, staying faithfully by him in his time of need. He reached around and grabbed her hand, which had settled on his neck as if he might flee in the night and brought it around to settle in her lap. He slowly inched his way off of her, and almost successfully made it off the bed when her eyes fluttered open. She looked at him, confused. "I'll be right back. I'm going to go get us some coffee," he whispered, leaning back over the foot of the bed so that she could hear him. She nodded, sinking further onto the mattress and shutting her eyes once more. He lingered for a moment, watching her turn on her side, grasping the pillow under her. He walked to the side of the bed and crouched down to be at her level. This woman was amazing, and he couldn't wait to tell her that every day for the rest of his life. He pushed the hair back against her head and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. She smiled unconsciously then, burying herself into the pillow. He chuckled and quietly exited the room, completely oblivious as to the turmoil that would ensue as a result of falling in love with Cristina Yang._

Hunt sighed, turning from his back to his side. If- _When_ she came back to him, he would do better. He would not skip therapy and would make sure she went as well. He would make her talk to him; would make her release her fears and anxieties onto him, and he would carry them with her, just as she had and would continue to carry his. They would talk about kids, and about what they both did, but ultimately, it didn't matter to him right now. The only thing that mattered to him was that she make it home; that he didn't have to sleep in this bed alone; that he be allowed the privilege of holding her in his arms until the day he died.

He started to choke up at the thought of her suffering, God knows where, probably injured, and most definitely starving and cold-that is, if she even made it to the ground alive. He shook it off, knowing it was doing him absolutely no good to assume the worst. It was early at this point, and almost time for him to get up and go to work. Despite this, he was about to drift off when the phone buzzed on his bedside table.

He reached for it urgently. "Hello?"


	12. As Chorus to their Tragic Scene

**For this chapter, I only ask that I am awarded substantial grace in my medicinal accuracy (or lack thereof). In the bathtub scene with Owen after Cristina returns, she mentions that Mark just "kept dying" on her, so I used that as a reason to create some of my own storyline and fill in Shonda's gaps.**

 **I want to say that I am in no way, shape, or form a doctor or any related medical professional, so I'm** _ **sure**_ **a lot of my terminology and treatments are inaccurate, but I did do a fair amount of research, and this was the best I could come up with. I hope you enjoy despite my medical incompetency.**

"Mark?" Arizona said groggily, looking down on her friend who had moments before been perfectly fine…had it been moments, or hours? How long had she been out? The sun had barely begun to come up the last she remembered, and now its blinding force caused her to shield her eyes as she searched for the others. She looked back down at Mark, who was sweating profusely and gasping for air beneath the oxygen mask. "Oh my God," she said, quickly reaching for his hand. She pressed her fingers to his pulse point, and felt around intently, trying to find a rhythm. Finally she found it and…"Dammit!" She cursed herself. Cristina had ordered her to keep an eye on his heart rate, fearing a complication, and she had fallen asleep. "Help!" she screamed, seeing a vague outline of Derek and Meredith's bodies curled against one another on the ground a few yards ahead of her. "Derek!" she screamed louder. "Meredith!" Where was Cristina? She searched around frantically, unable to move and find her herself. Mark continued to gasp beneath her, and she realized if she was going to save him, she had to act fast. "HELP!" she screamed again, apparently awaking Jerry.

"Arizona, what happened?" he screamed from the other end of the crash site.

"It's Mark," she called out, weakly. "His heart rate is through the roof. Call for the others until they wake up! There's only so much I can do alone." She heard Jerry's much louder, much deeper voice scream bloody murder while she spoke to Mark. "Mark, if you can understand me, squeeze my hand," she said urgently. She felt him squeeze ever so slightly. "Good," she gulped. "Now, you're tachycardic, and I need to regulate your heart beat, okay? I'm going to take your mask off, and I need you to cough, and not some sissy little clearing-your-throat cough." Her energy and confidence was returning. "I need you to cough like an asthmatic 2-pack-a-day smoker who just ran a marathon." She could hear Jerry screaming through the plane window to Derek and Meredith, and saw them stir. "Derek and Meredith are coming," she said, removing the oxygen mask. "Now _cough,"_ she commanded. Mark took in as deep of a breath as he could manage, and forced a cough. "Not enough, Mark. You gotta give me more," she shook her head, prompting him again. "Cough more than once as hard as you can." Mark spit out two stronger coughs before gasping for breath once more.

"What happened?" Meredith asked, jogging over to Arizona and Mark.

"I woke up and he was sweating bullets and heaving for air," she said, leaning her head against the wall of the plane. "I checked his pulse, and he's…" she paused, trying to explain, but the dehydration was getting to her. "tachychardic," she finished, checking his pulse again.

"Okay, we need to…" she gripped her head, unable to think straight. This was _basic_ medicine. How could she not remember?

"Submerge his head in cold water. Spark the vagus nerve," Derek suggested, leaning his head to Mark's chest to better hear the arrythmia.

"We don't _have_ any water," Meredith snapped, racking her brain for any other solution. "Where the hell is Cristina?" she snapped looking around.

"I'm here." Suddenly, Cristina appeared from behind the plane, and sprinted over. "No, no, no, no, no," she said urgently, crouching down beside Mark. "What the hell happened? Why weren't you watching him like I told you to?" In any other circumstance, she wouldn't be screaming at her superior, but this was no ordinary situation.

Arizona looked at her guiltily. "I'm sorry. I-I-I fell asleep," she said, unable to produce a more justified reason.

Cristina looked down at Mark, who was growing paler and paler by the second due to lack of oxygen. "How long has he been like this?" she asked, checking his pulse, just as the others had.

"No more than 7 minutes," Arizona replied helplessly. "I didn't have the mobility to do anything useful, so I did the only thing I could think of. I tried to get him to cough hard enough to stimulate the vagus nerve and slow down the electrical impulses in his heart, but he's not strong enough."

"He's extremely tachycardic," Cristina said, feeling his heart flutter rapidly through her fingers.

" _We know,"_ the trio replied, looking at Cristina for more of a solution.

She looked back at them incredulously. " _So_ tachycardic that his heart is about to arrest," she said looking back down at Mark. "One of you grab his wrist and monitor his heart rate," she said, repositioning herself near his head.

Meredith grabbed his wrist and found his pulse point. "Got it."

She pried Mark's mouth open as wide as it would go, and instructed Arizona. "Hold this."

Arizona did so, using her thumb and her index finger to keep it as wide as possible. Meredith looked at Cristina doubtfully. "What are you doing?" she asked, urgently.

Cristina made no attempt to respond, so Derek did for her. "She's going to gag him. Stimulate the receptors in his carotid."

Meredith stared at her. "Cristina, he's going to start seizing. He'll break open his incision."

"Then someone hold him down," she snapped, staring back at her.

"This is a bad idea. He's too fragile. Overstimulating the vagus nerve could counteract the effects and _send_ him into cardiac arrest instead of prevent it. You have no way of kn-"

"Do you have a better idea, Dr. Grey?" Arizona challenged, staring at her intently. "Mark is _dying_ as we speak, so unless you have a safer solution up your sleeve…" she trailed off, not wanting to cause any bad blood. They were all on-edge, and fighting with a comrade wouldn't solve anything.

Meredith glanced at her, then back at Cristina. "Just be careful," she pleaded, looking back down at Mark.

"See, and I had planned on just killing him," Cristina grunted sarcastically, plunging her fingers down Mark's throat. Just as Meredith had predicted, Mark started convulsing violently beneath her, fighting the obstruction in his airway. "Hold him down!" Cristina shouted at Derek, who was bracing Mark by the shoulders.

"I'm trying," Derek responded, repositioning himself so that he was straddling Mark and sitting on his legs while he continued to brace his shoulders.

Finally, Cristina pulled back, and Mark gasped for air. They all looked at Meredith for an update. "Cristina, his heart rate picked up. You have t-" Cristina immediately went back in, once more inserting her fingers down Mark's airway. "Cristina _stop_. It didn't work. We have t-"

"Shut up. I know what I'm doing," Cristina rebutted through gritted teeth. Mark's eyes were beginning to roll back from lack of oxygen. _Please don't throw up. Please don't throw up,_ Cristina thought.

" _Cristina,"_ Meredith shouted, urging her friend to look at her. "He's going to pass out! You have to stop!"

Not a moment after she said it, Cristina retracted her hand. "Okay, okay, I'm done," she said, leaning back onto her heels. "Meredith?" Cristina prompted, praying for good news.

She was silent for a moment, feeling his pulse intently. She relaxed onto her haunches. "Heart rate is down," she said with relief.

They all simultaneously sighed in relief as Mark's breathing began to return to normal. Cristina was the first to rise. "There should be one more water bottle in that backpack. Make sure he drinks some," she said, walking back out into the woods.

"Where are you going?" Meredith asked.

"Uh, I-we need firewood." she answered, not looking back.

"I'll come with you," she said, using her knee to push herself up. Cristina kept walking, ignoring Meredith's offer. "Cristina," she said, jogging to catch up with her. After she reached her, she put a hand on Cristina's shoulder. Cristina spun around to face Meredith.

"No Mer, you should go back and get some rest," Cristina said, feigning sweetness. "It's been about 20 minutes since your last nap. You must be _exhausted._ " The sarcasm dripped from her voice as she stared at Meredith for a moment. Meredith absorbed Cristina's words in their moment of silence, but before she could respond, Cristina had turned and was strutting back into the forest.

"I suck. I get it. We all suck, but we're all in this shitty situation together, so it wouldn't hurt for you to be less of a b-"

"Bitch?" Cristina turned to face Meredith, who was several yards away. "Yeah, you're right. I could. I don't know _why_ I'm acting this way." She smiled bitterly. "Must be the _exhaustion_ setting in!" She gave Meredith a quick, cynical laugh throwing her hands up. She cocked her head. "Not that you'd know anything about that." And with that, Cristina walked briskly into the forest.

You know your world is falling to pieces when you turn on your person.


	13. Save the Eagle, Feather'd King

**I hope I haven't lost too many readers. Excuses aren't my thing, so I won't make them, but I hope that despite my overdue update, you enjoy this chapter.**

 **I can't imagine that anyone doesn't like Webber. He obviously has his flaws, but he is constantly trying to right his wrongs, a quality that I find most admirable in a person, so this chapter is dedicated to him and his loyalty to the hospital and his friends/family.**

 **As you can tell, I'm quite invested in these characters. Please enjoy.**

"I wish I had something more substantial for you, Dr. Hunt." Hunt's heart dropped, as did his head. It was Collins. "I didn't mean to get your hopes up, but we need to you do an…interview, of sorts so that we can get some more information about the flight."

"Right," he sighed. "Yeah, okay."

"Great. There's a flight leaving at 1800 from Sea-Tac to BOI. Fax over your information, and we'll have a ticket waiting for you at the check-in desk."

"Wait, you want me to fly to Boise? For an interview?" Hunt ran his hands through his hair.

"I use the term 'interview' lightly. It's more of an…"

"Interrogation," Hunt finished. "It's been two days, you can't find the plane, and you suspect me of being at-fault." His tone was defensive. How _dare_ this motherfucker.

"Stand down, Hunt. Yes, interrogation would be the more appropriate term for your visit here, but we don't believe you to be at-fault." Hunt scoffed. "We simply need your side of the story as their Chief."

Hunt blew out a large gust of air. "Alright, so I get on the plane, then what?"

"You'll need to bring all staff files with you. To be more specific, uh…" Hunt heard papers rustling from the other end. "Meredith Grey, Mark Sloan, Alex Karev, Cristina Yang, and Lexie Grey. We also ne-"

"Karev was replaced by Arizona Robbins before they left the hospital. He wasn't on the plane."

"Right, well, bring both files, just in case." Collins heard Hunt grunt in response and took that as a sign to move forward. "In addition to the staff files, we'll also need every record of the flight: confirmations, receipts, itineraries, and anything else you got. You had mentioned several calls from a uh…" more paper-shuffling from Collins' end. "Dr. Sheehan notifying you that the plane hadn't arrived, is this correct?"

"Yes," Hunt replied.

"If you can manage it, bring those recordings as well, and if the machine doesn't do it automatically, make sure to record the day and exact time of each message. We'll need them for evidence."

Owen sighed. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. Be prepared to spend several days here. This is neither a short nor easy process. We want to be thorough." He was running a _hospital_. How the hell was he supposed to just pick up and leave for days, possibly even weeks? He would have to reschedule surgeries, prepare payroll, assign a chief interim, and…no, no. The first thing to do would be-"Dr. Hunt, are you still with me?" He must've been silent longer than he realized.

"Yes, yes," he quickly replied. "Wilco, sir."

"Alright, 1800 hours, Sea-Tac. Be there. We'll have a car waiting for you when you arrive in Boise."

Hunt hung up the phone, wringing his hair through his hands. He looked at his clock. He had exactly 11 hours and 23 minutes to ensure hospital maintenance and transfer responsibilities before he had to leave indefinitely. He quickly changed into his scrub top and pants, not bothering to wear anything nice, and headed out the door.

When he arrived at Seattle Grace, he made a beeline to his office. The last thing he needed was to be pulled into a trauma case he didn't have time for. The first thing he did was page Webber. If he was going to have to leave someone in charge, there was no more obvious choice than Richard. He was digging through a filing cabinet full of hospital records when the former chief walked in.

"What's going on, Hunt? You're not supposed to come in fo-"

"I got a call from the Boise Air Force base about a half hour ago."

Webber looked at him, intrigued. "And?"

"They've got nothing," Hunt said, waving his hand. Webber looked down dejectedly. "But they need me to come in for some sort of-of 'interview.' I leave for Boise at 6:00." Webber remained silent, watching Hunt pace around the room, searching through filing cabinets, book shelves, and unlabeled folders, looking for God knows what. "They want all kinds of files and records that honestly," he looked at Richard, laughing. "I have no idea where to find."

The tenured chief walked calmly toward Hunt, who was leaning against his desk, using his hands to stabilize himself. Hunt shook his head, looking around his office as if some divine creature would suddenly descend from the heavens and give him the answers. "What kind of files you need?"

Webber and Hunt spent the next three hours collecting various files. Webber was able to locate most of them without a problem, but some records were more difficult to find. The more the day dragged on, the more Hunt's admiration for Webber grew. Hunt didn't even have to ask him to be chief interim. As soon as he got word that the chief would be preoccupied, he reverted back to chief mode. He knew this hospital inside and out. He had devoted his entire career to Seattle Grace. Hunt loved being chief, no doubt, but if the situation ever arose where Webber wanted his job back, Hunt would hand it over. No fight, no lawsuit, no vendetta. Hunt loved being chief, but Webber was _made_ for it.

"I suppose now, you're going to need to reschedule your surgeries and reassign your patients. Let's take a look," Webber said, pulling out his reading glasses.

"Actually, uh, before we go any further, I need to clarify something," Hunt said, clearing his throat.

He removed his reading glasses. "Alright," he said attentively.

"It's really more of a formality, you know, for legal reasons. I'd like for you to step up as chief interim while I'm gone, however long that will be." Hunt nodded his head, resolved.

Webber nodded back, thoughtfully. "I think I could do that," he responded. "My status: It starts now?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, I've got several more hours before m-"

"Because if it starts _now_ , that would mean _I_ was responsible for rescheduling your surgeries and managing your patients. Now, I'm not telling you how to spend your time, but if it were me and I had no other responsibilities at the hospital, I'd be going home to prepare for what I'm presuming is going to be a very long string of days for you. What do you think, Hunt?"

Hunt chuckled to himself. "I-I think you're absolutely right, sir." He became much more thoughtful. "Thank you, Richard."

"Go save our people," he said simply, turning down the hallway and out of sight.

"Wilco," Owen said to himself, walking out the doors of the hospital, prepared and determined to find out what happened to his people; his wife…he couldn't afford to think about that right now. He couldn't spend what little energy he had left concocting the morbid thoughts of his twisted mind. Right now, he had to focus.

The remaining hours went down without a hitch, as did his flight, and soon enough, he found himself in a Boise hotel room, beaten and exhausted. It was 8:00 at that point, usually far before his bedtime on the days he was allowed a _bedtime_ , but he couldn't resist the urge to crawl into the hotel bed and sleep off the nightmare that had been the last three days.

 _Three days,_ he thought to himself. _How could a full 72 hours have passed with absolutely no trace?_ The pull of sleep was taking him under, fast, but he was desperately trying to cope with the trauma he had experienced worrying about his loved ones. _Cristina, sweetie, I love you. I hope and pray every minute that you're okay. Please come back to me._ The mixture between the stress and exhaustion was causing him to cope in strange ways, like speak to his wife in thoughts, but it allowed him to sleep peacefully for the first time in days, so he embraced it for all it was worth.


	14. Single Nature's Double Name

**We're getting to the fun part, ladies and gents. After this chapter, things start getting…strange, to say the least for Cristina. Hopefully you all are still enjoying this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

Cristina grumbled curses at her companions as she stalked through the forest, picking up anything she thought might be useful to them. She had gone out initially in search of firewood, but in truth, she doubted that they would even be able to make a fire. Derek was the outdoorsman of the group, but the initial shock of the crash had rendered his knowledge useless. She couldn't blame him. They were all off their game, given they had just been in a _plane crash_. If being the capable, stable-minded one ensured their survival, she would gladly take on the responsibility.

After having an hour or so to cool off, Cristina felt bad about yelling at Meredith. True, she had left Cristina to defend the camp singlehandedly throughout the long night, but so had the rest of them. Cristina was beginning to accept the fact that they had identified her as the unspoken leader and decided to take that as a compliment rather than an injustice to herself. It was the only way to remain optimistic about their behavior and not lash out at them every time they failed to take initiative.

Cristina was just about to head back when she happened upon a unique-looking black rock amidst the pine needles. She picked it up to find it was an arrowhead. _Maybe we'll be able to catch some food,_ she thought, giggling to herself as she imagined Meredith trying to track down and kill some very unfortunate fowl. _If nothing else, it'll make a great souvenir. I think I'll really want to remember this adventure in the years to come._ She giggled again to herself, slipping the arrowhead into her pocket. She cracked herself up.

She arrived back at the crash site to find everything as she'd left it. Arizona had sweat pouring down her face as she held Mark's hand, checking his pulse diligently. Cristina grew concerned, hoping the sweat was the product of the sun and Mark's added body heat, and she wasn't getting septic. She dropped the supplies she had gathered at their "fire pit" where Meredith was cleaning Derek's wounded arm. Meredith looked up at her briefly, showing her annoyance, and focused again on Derek's arm. Cristina crouched down to their level then. "How is it?" she asked eyeing the wound for signs of infection.

Meredith didn't look up. She was never one to reveal anything with her voice, especially hurt, so Cristina wasn't surprised when she answered with indifference, "It looks fine. I don't see any reason for concern." She grabbed a tattered piece of a clean t-shirt and wrapped Derek's arm carefully. As she tied it in place, Derek winced in pain. "Sorry," she said apologetically, looking up at her husband.

"Meredith," Cristina said, urging her friend to look at her. Meredith did, her eyes filled with annoyance. "I'm sorry." She moved from a crouching position to sit on the ground, bringing her knees up to rest her arms on. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. I've just been busting my ass trying to keep everything together, and I got mad, and I snapped-momentarily."

Meredith smiled at her faintly. "I know." She moved to be closer to Cristina. Without Meredith blocking his view, Cristina got a good look at Derek, who was staring her down with pursed lips. Once he noticed she was looking at him, he turned away, looking instead into the woods.

"You too, Derek. I could've been more…" she winced as she begrudgingly said the word, "sensitive."

He met her eyes once more, his expression unchanging. He nodded curtly before returning his eyes to the woods. Meredith's words caught her attention once more. "Don't mind him. Derek just needs a Snickers because he's a diva when he's hungry," she said, directing her comment at him rather than Cristina.

Derek tried to hold back a smile, but couldn't resist at the mention of the infamous TV commercial. "That was good," he chuckled, glancing briefly at the pair.

Cristina and Meredith both laughed, enjoying the brief distraction from the tragedy they were in the midst of. Meredith again looked at Cristina sympathetically. "You've carried the load since we crashed. I know that." She looked down thoughtfully before continuing. "You're entitled to lash out."

Cristina acknowledged her comment with a faint smile. "Let's go check on Arizona. She didn't look so hot when I passed her earlier."

The two stood then, and made their way to Arizona and Mark. She was still sweating profusely, and Cristina noticed that even though the sun was out, it wasn't that hot. "Still stable," she rasped upon seeing Cristina and Meredith approaching.

Cristina nodded. "But you're not," she responded, crouching next to Arizona.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall of the plane. "I'm fine," she managed to get out.

"Mm." Cristina moved to Arizona's left side to check her leg. "Have you been keeping an eye on it?"

"What, the leg?" She looked down. "No. I was at first, but then we moved Mark to where he is now, and I couldn't see it. He's in a hell of a lot worse condition than I am, so I let it be. It doesn't hurt any more than it did when I last checked, so I assumed I was a-okay," she smiled then, her eyes still closed. Even in an unthinkable tragedy, Robbins managed to be rainbows and sunshine. Cristina didn't get it, but for the first time, appreciated that someone was optimistic.

"Help me move him for a second," Cristina directed Meredith. The pair clumsily moved him off to the side to get a better look at Arizona's leg. "Oh my God," Cristina whispered under her breath. She bent down to examine the leg, hoping she was mistaken. "Mer." Meredith walked to Arizona's left side and crouched next to Cristina.

Her eyes widened. "Are those-"

"Maggots," Cristina finished, shaking her head.

Arizona sat upright then. " _What?_ " she exclaimed looking down at her leg. The makeshift belt tourniquet was still in place, causing her lower leg to turn a shade of purple, but that clearly wasn't the concern. Since she last checked 24 hours prior, flies had found her open wound and laid eggs there. " _How?_ It's only been a day! Ho-How could it possibly have happened that quickly?"

"Meredith, go grab the hand sanitizer and the pocket knife." Meredith nodded, trotting off toward the fire pit where most of their supplies were located. "It happens fast. Fly eggs can be laid and hatched in a matter of eight hours, if the conditions are right."

"I'm going to be sick," Arizona moaned, covering her mouth.

"No, no, no, no, no!" Cristina held out her hand, begging her to comply. "You'll dehydrate yourself. Just-Just hold it in. Fortunately," Arizona lurched forward, fighting the urge to vomit, "Fortunately," she repeated more urgently, "we caught it early. We're going to get them out, okay?"

Arizona nodded, still covering her mouth. "Okay, I got it," Meredith said, handing the supplies to Cristina.

Cristina cleaned the pocket knife blade before going in on the open flesh. She first got the ones on the surface, which barely made Arizona wince. Once she had to start digging for them, Arizona started screaming wildly. "I know, I know. I'm sorry," Cristina said, wincing herself. "Mer, hold the leg down as best as you can, and Arizona, I know it hurts, but you gotta stay still." Arizona nodded, bracing herself for the next insertion. She screamed again. The pain was like no other, but she didn't resist much, knowing it was just par for the course. Finally, Cristina finished. Arizona was out of breath, palming the ground beneath her with intense force. Cristina used the hand sanitizer to clean the wound, then dressed it to the best of her capabilities, opting to lightly pack the crevices beneath the mangled bone with t-shirt scraps, and cover it with the most pliable resource she could find: leaves. She taped them down with the tape she had used on Jerry, praying they would stay.

The rest of the day went down without a hitch. Mark miraculously remained stable throughout the day, and Cristina and Meredith took turns redressing Arizona's wound every approximated hour. Jerry was still awake and responsive, but it was difficult to gauge the extent of his injuries, given the conditions by which they had to work. He had no open wounds, but paralysis in his lower proximities. There was little they could do for him other than keep him from moving. By the end of the day, Arizona's demeanor was back to, if nothing else, energetic, giving Cristina a small glimmer of hope. She only feared what would happen when they ran out of packing materials, as it was their primary preventative measure against infection and bug infestation, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, it was time to try to start a fire.

"Okay, so what all have we tried?" Cristina asked, approaching Derek and Meredith, who were both racking their brains for any ideas.

"I found some rocks nearby, and tried to strike them to get it going, but they're the wrong kind of rock." Derek shook his head, staring down at the fresh wood.

"We also tried to angle a piece of glass from the plane window, but no luck. The weather isn't right around here for that. It's too humid, too cloudy, and not hot enough, even when the sun is shining." Meredith looked at Cristina thoughtfully.

Cristina's brows furrowed. "What kind of rock do you need?" she asked Derek.

"Flint." He looked up at her. "I looked out there for hours, but there's no water nearby, so the likelihood of finding any was slim. I used the sharpest, driest pieces of rock I could find."

"What does it look like?" she questioned.

Derek's brows mirrored Cristina's, furrowing in confusion. "Flint? It's uh, usually grey, smooth, kind of shiny. Why?"

Cristina smiled as she unzipped her coat pocket, revealing the arrowhead of matching description. "Like this?"

She laughed excitedly as Derek jumped up, retrieving the arrowhead from Cristina. "An arrowhead," he marveled. He looked back up at them. "Ladies, our luck just might be turning. An arrowhead," he explained, "would be the _only_ possible way to find flint in this part of the country, especially in an area with no water source." He turned to Cristina. " _This_ was an extremely lucky find, and it just might have saved our lives." He crouched by the fire pit then, removing the wood and replacing it with pine needles. "Okay, I'm going to try to get the fire started with what we've got, but ideally, I need a better starter than pine needles." He grabbed the pocket knife and struck the flint. It sparked over the pine needles but failed to catch. He tried again but garnered the same results. He looked over at the two of them. "Cristina, I need you to go back out there and find me some birch wood. Birch is usually white with dark crevices that look like spots. Think…" he paused. "Visualize a tree that resembles a Dalmatian."

Cristina chuckled, and saluted him. "You got it." She was thankful not to be calling the shots, for once.

"Okay, and Meredith," he turned to her. "Go over to the plane, and get me as many small shards of metal as you can find. It would be a long shot if we found any steel-I think most of it is aluminum, but we might get lucky again." He looked toward the dilapidated plane. "The knife will suffice perfectly, I just don't want to dullen the blade if I don't have to, in case we have to…" he gestured toward Mark.

Meredith nodded. "On it."

"Cristina, I should probably go with you. It's getting dark," he said seriously.

Cristina turned her lips down with a pondering expression. "Mm," she considered. "No, I think I can find the Dalmatian tree. You should help Meredith and keep an eye on the invalid twins."

Derek grimaced at her word choice. "Your candidness never fails to amaze me," he grumbled, standing. "Here, take the knife." She took it from him, and he pointed at her. "Use it sparingly. If you can find loose branches, or even tear them off, take those. Birches tend to get tall, so if you can't reach the branches, shave off pieces from the trunk." He gave her a pointed look. "I'm serious. Last resort. We need to keep that knife sharp."

She nodded again, walking back into the forest. She walked for a while, carefully noting each tree's appearance. She didn't want to miss one, and risk being out there after dark. _He said they should be everywhere,_ she thought, walking slower and looking more closely than before. _I've been out here for ages._ She couldn't believe how well her body had held up over the past 36 hours. Aside from her shoulder, which still ached immensely, she had a great deal of energy, and really didn't feel all that tired. She had managed to save Mark twice, gather firewood, form a reasonably-planned campsite, and carve maggots out of Arizona's leg, all with one arm, no sleep, no food, and very little water. Her mind was still sharp enough to make and execute medical decisions, and thank God for it. She had impressed even herself.

Suddenly, she broke from her trance, and noticed the sun was descending at an alarming rate. It was already dusk, she had been walking for hours, and she still hadn't found the damn birch tree. Just as she was about to give up and return back…"Finally," she breathed, relieved. She walked over to the spotted tree, which, as Derek had predicted, was tall enough to be nearly out of reach for her. Determined not to use the knife, she eyed her target, swung her arms, and jumped up, missing the branch by a fraction. "Dammit," she grumbled. She tried again, pushing through her heels to produce the best upward force, this time, managing to grasp the branch. It was a small branch, so it broke easily, but the branch fibers kept it hanging on by a thread. Now that the branch was hanging down, it was easier for her to jump and tear the remaining fibers and detach it from the trunk. With one down, Cristina searched for another within her reach. She found none on that tree, so she looked around. _If there's one, there's bound to be another close by_ , she reasoned. She looked straight ahead and saw a small cluster of them not far away.

She was about to advance toward them when she heard a menacing growl in the distance. She froze in her tracks, terrified. Not knowing where they were, and not wanting to draw attention to herself in case she hadn't already been noticed, she paused, listening. The growl came again, more menacing than before, then another growl joined in. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists. _They aren't getting any closer_ , she thought. _You're fine. Just move your feet. One step back, then another._ Her body coincided with her thoughts, stepping carefully back one step, then two. She didn't make it to three, as she froze once more upon hearing the canines begin to fight ferociously. She heard intense snarling, barking, and growling, that only let up so that they could growl at one another once more.

She was about to bolt with the knowledge that they clearly weren't after her, but then she recognized a massive oak. Where had she seen that? She hadn't gone this far out since… _Oh my God._ It dawned on her, and she turned. She saw a hill directly in her path that she recognized as the same hill they had carried Mark over. She was at the second crash site. Those dogs, whether wolves or coyotes, weren't after some rodent they had killed. They were after Lexie.

Retracting her pocket knife, she slowly inched her way up the hill, careful not to draw attention to herself. Once she reached the top, she peeked over, and confirmed her prediction. She could see the outline of a limb in one of their mouths, and her rage boiled over. This would not be her fate. Cristina had already failed her. She would be damned if she failed her body too.

 _You're an idiot,_ she thought to herself, gathering as many rocks as she could find, and stuffing them in her pockets. _What are you thinking? You're a scientist. Lexie's body is exactly that: a body. She's not in there anymore._ It was if her mind and body were at a crossroads. Her mind was telling her to get the hell out of there, but her body wanted to fight; to fight for Lexie, for herself, for Meredith. She was going to fight against this tragedy. She would have her justice. They had been through enough.

With everything in place, she took a deep breath. _They're scared of humans. Take them by surprise and run them off. That's all you have to do._ She stood on the hill, one arm in a sling, one hand grasping the pocket knife. She mustered the courage she needed and ran screaming down the hill.

Maybe this exhaustion thing was getting to her after all…


	15. Here the Anthem Doth Commence:

**I am a little nervous about posting this chapter and the chapters to come. Though this is one of my favorite chapters, I feel like I might lose some of you based on the aforementioned "convoluted, haphazard version of poetic license" I take in the upcoming story line. Hopefully you all will enjoy my take on things.**

" _Get back!"_ Cristina bellowed, waving the pocket knife wildly in front of her. Coyote taming was not Cristina's specialty, but she fought valiantly, albeit ineffectively, against them to protect her fallen comrade. She had miscalculated the initial number of coyotes, approximating just two, but found upon arriving at the site that there were closer to five or six. She was correct, however, in assuming that a screaming human wielding a pocket knife would scare them. Four of them ran for the hills, but the remaining two jumped back, startled, then commenced growling at her menacingly. _Damn, they must be really hungry to fuck with an armed, deranged lunatic._

"I am. A. _Cardiothoracic. Goddess_ ," she screamed, pausing between her words to swing the knife at them. "I will _not_ go down like this!" She heaved generously for air, as she kept her wide eyes on the coyotes. They continued to growl, unyielding. She kept them a couple of yards back, keeping them at bay with her arm stretched out, knife in hand. She gulped. _Maybe this was a bad idea_ , she thought, her heart pounding in her ears.

Just then, the one just out of sight, but still in her peripheral vision, lunged toward her. "No, no, no, _no!_ " Fortunately, she was enough of a threat that it didn't feel confident to actually attack her, just scare her. _He's trying to use my tactic!_ "That doesn't work on me, buddy," she said quietly, taking a defensive stance.

She dug one of the heavier rocks out of her pocket, and tossed it in her hand for a moment, focusing intently on her target to ensure she hit it. She remembered what Owen had taught her. _Grip with your fingers. Build your momentum. Balance your weight. Find your stride. Follow through._ She smiled. Finally, those agonizing hours of baseball tutoring had paid off. The rock was heavier than a baseball but still held a somewhat spherical form, so it was easy to grip, if nothing else. She wound up and heaved the rock at the coyote, hitting it in the shoulder, just left of her intended point of impact. The coyote whimpered and backed off, but still did not retreat. The second one also hesitated after his foe was hit, but only backed up one step, still baring his teeth and snarling.

They were smart creatures. She would give them that. After she struck the first one, they teamed up against her, maneuvering themselves no longer in front of her, but on either side of her to give them the best chance at success. It became a balancing act at that point. Cristina started to panic, fearing that as soon as she set eyes on one, the other would see it as an opportunity to pounce. As she pivoted from one foot to the other, she started to shake. _Definitely. Definitely a bad idea._

She noticed after a moment that they were becoming predictable. Every time they lunged toward her, they jumped back just as quickly. They weren't going to attack her, at least not in that moment, so she took that time to think back to Seattle Grace, when they played that ridiculous baseball game against Seattle Pres. She and Meredith hadn't taken the game seriously, but she could never forget the moment when, without looking, Lexie hurled the ball at her opponent on first base, well out of her direct line of sight, and struck her in the chest. Cristina giggled at the thought, but quickly refocused. It seemed only fitting that Cristina take guidance from Lexie in that moment. She dug another rock from her pocket, and positioned herself exactly as Lexie had: feet together, torso bent slightly forward, rock held lopsidedly in both her good hand and bad hand. She waited then.

It took another moment, but just as she predicted, she noticed out of the corner of her eye, that the one to her right loaded its haunches. Prepared and focused this time, Cristina turned on her heels, and hurled the ball in its direction, hitting its snout. She heard it whimper and back down, but it still didn't flee. Instead, it howled in frustration and dropped down, now lying there staring at her. She took no notice in the first one, immediately retrieving another rock and returning to her pitching stance, just as Lexie had done. She smiled slightly, rocking back and forth between her left and right legs. She was in the zone. _Lexie, I owe you one,_ she thought, preparing for the next attack. She didn't have to wait long, as the coyote to her left pounced without a sure signal, taking Cristina aback. Still, her reflexes were sharp, and she turned, pitching the ball at it, making contact with its exposed chest. This one let out a loud yelp before crashing to the ground. They made no mistake in taking her for a threat, but they were scavengers, and starving ones at that, so they both gave up the fight, and waited her out.

Their eyes never left her as she stood, still bouncing her weight from her left leg to her right, but she didn't care. She was back in Seattle, winning her hospital the game against Seattle Pres, and no one could convince her otherwise. "C'mon, giving up so soon?" she taunted, smiling arrogantly. "McDougall, you should be ashamed of your team, crying like little girls at the first sign of trouble." She stared straight ahead, determined to pitch the perfect ball. She dug another rock out of her pocket. "Batter up!" she yelled, making the coyotes perk up. "Alright, Hewitt from Gyne, prepare to meet your maker." She wound up, threw the ball, and hit the trunk with a loud knock. Cristina smiled to herself again. "Strike one!" The coyotes dipped their ears then, fearing she would aim at them next.

Cristina never backed down. She pitched rock after rock all night, screaming at her imaginary opponents until the sun rose. The coyotes had long since run off, realizing Cristina wasn't leaving anytime soon, so Cristina was free to collect the rocks she had already thrown and play imaginary baseball for as long as she liked. Just at the end cusp of dawn, when the sun had almost risen to its highest point, Cristina was in the middle of her fifth game. She had bases loaded, and was about to strike out Lancaster from Neuro, when she heard her name. She lowered the ball and listened. "CRISTINA!" It was Meredith. Cristina looked around, disappointed.

"Alright guys, we forfeit. Good game." Several hours prior, Cristina had taken a quick time-out between innings, and formed a makeshift shield from plane debris to cover the gaping hole Lexie was trapped under. She had promised to check back in later in the day when the rest of her crew was taken care of. She started to walk up the hill when she realized how exhausted she was. _Baseball really takes it out of you,_ she thought, approaching the top. She heard her name again.

"CRISTINA!" It was sharper and deeper this time, indicating that Derek was with her.

"Coming!" she shouted, nonchalantly, breathing heavily.

She heard incomprehensible talk amongst the couple, who had apparently heard her, then Meredith shouted again. "Cristina?"

She could see them now, but through starry eyes. "Mer!" They ran to her as she palmed her knee with her good hand, catching her breath. They finally got to her, immediately examining her for signs of injury. "I'm…Good…" she breathed, her knees beginning to fail her.

"Like hell, you are!" She could hear Meredith choking up. "I thought I'd lost you- _again_. Where the hell were you?"

"Baseball…" she trailed off then, her knees crumpling beneath her. The couple caught her in her fall. It all came back to her then, her sanity finally returning. She cleared her throat, standing up on wobbly legs. "I'm good," she stated confidently, her strength somewhat replenished. The couple shared a look that indicated she was most definitely not 'good.' "There are some birch trees, right over there," she pointed to her left.

"You can handle this?" Derek asked his wife. Meredith nodded adamantly. "Okay, I'll go get the birch and meet you back at the site.

Cristina watched Derek go, and looked up at a glaring Meredith. "I got lost," she said simply, shrugging.

"Baseball?" Meredith inquired.

Cristina shrugged it off. "Don't worry about it. Help me back to the site, would you?" Meredith propped Cristina under her arm and guided her back to camp.

 _Did I just play five games of baseball against Seattle Pres?_


	16. Saw Division Grow Together

**Thank you for the reviews. I loved hearing that you all enjoyed my last chapter. Things only get weirder from here, so brace yourselves, but for now, Owen gets some pressing news.**

Owen arrived at the base and up to the receptionist counter at exactly 8:00, as instructed. Collins, or who he believed to be Collins, based on the rank indicated on his uniform, was waiting for him at the desk. "Dr. Hunt. Glad to finally meet you," Collins said, extending his hand.

Owen took his hand, giving him a firm handshake. "Major General Collins, I presume. How did you kn-"

"I've done my homework." He nodded politely. "Plus, the tower of paperwork in your hands gave you away."

Hunt chuckled. "Right. I'm guessing you don't have many people come in here with a two-foot high stack of staff files."

"Affirmative. Your situation is definitely unique, I'll admit." He gestured for the door to his office. "Why don't you take a seat; get that weight off your shoulders." He meant it literally, but Hunt couldn't help but think, _Believe me, this is the lightest load I've carried in four days._

They sat across from each other with Collins behind his desk, and Owen directly opposite. Collins watched Owen intently for a moment, trying to feel him out. Owen knew this. He did the same thing upon meeting a new person. It was inherent in military personnel. Once he felt it was an appropriate amount of time, Hunt delved into his files. "So, uh, I brought everything you asked for: staff files, flight records dating back to 2008, and, oh," he paused, digging a flash drive out of his pocket. "The recordings from Dr. Sheehan." He set the flash drive on the counter next to the rest of his data, and looked up at Collins. "Dated to the second she left the message."

Collins looked at him curiously. He was sitting, leaned over his desk with his hands intertwined in a fist. "Why don't we start with your background."

Hunt sat back in his chair, and raised his eyebrow. "I thought you already did your homework."

Collins nodded, keeping eye contact with Owen. "I want to hear it from you."

Hunt shrugged. "Not much to tell. Born and raised in Seattle, went to Harvard for my M.D., Northwestern for my residency. Worked for a short period of time as a trauma surgeon in Maryland before enlisting in the U.S. Army in" he paused, blowing out a gust of air, trying to recall the year. "Mm, '97, I believe. Moved up the ranks, became a Major in '07, did my last tour in Iraq in '08, where my entire platoon was blown to shreds, somehow lived to tell the story." He had both eyebrows raised, nodding his head in acceptance. "Was honorably discharged then and there, took up a job offer as Head of Trauma at Seattle Grace, became Chief of Surgery last year, and uh, here we are." He nonchalantly extended his hands out to the side, as if to emphasize that he had finished.

Collins looked at him silently for a moment before looking down at his desk. "I understand you're married."

Hunt cleared his throat. "Affirmative."

"To one of the crash victims," he continued.

Hunt nodded. "Also an affirmative."

Collins raised his eyebrows. "You must be pretty worried."

Hunt laughed. "This is starting to sound an awful lot like an interrogation."

"So you're not worried?"

Hunt leaned forward in his chair, looking Collins straight in the eye. "You want me to be vulnerable? Fine, I'll be vulnerable. Cristina is my whole world, and I am worried _sick_ that she's lying dead in a forest somewhere. I can't tell you the truly graphic thoughts that run through my head every second of every minute she's still missing. Am I worried? You bet your ass I'm worried. I haven't had a decent thought in four fucking days, I'm so worried. That a sufficient answer for you?" He said it not maliciously, but calmly and respectfully. Hunt was a pro at containing his passion among his superiors. Hunt was a passionate man, but he learned how to reel it in. He had done it for eleven years, and he hadn't forgotten now.

Collins nodded thoughtfully once more. "Let's dig into these files. Can you grab me the flight reports?"

Owen cleared his throat, handing Collins one file after another. "Here are the records from '08, '09, 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013."

Collins looked through the files, taking what information he needed from each one before moving on to the next. He lingered on the last one, studying it carefully, before looking back up at Hunt, who was waiting patiently for him to finish. "Dr. Hunt, how much do you know about Bayview Aeronautics?"

Hunt furrowed his eyebrows. "Uh, not a lot, honestly. The hospital's been using them to provide our charter planes for years."

Collins nodded. "I see that. I also see that Seattle Grace renewed their contract with them earlier this year." Collins slid the contract toward Hunt. "Do you remember this?"

Hunt sighed, looking down at the contract. "I don't, actually. It was that time of year. All of the contracts were running out, and they all had to be renewed, but like I said, the hospital's been using that company for decades. Why would that be a problem now?"

"Well, as I'm sure you know, Bayview doesn't make the planes. They are employed by charter plane companies who want Bayview to advertise and advocate for them to gain better business. When you go to Bayview, they give you a number of different options of companies to choose from, and you sign a contract with Bayview _and_ the charter company of your choosing."

Hunt nodded. "Okay," he said, prompting Collins to continue.

Collins cleared his throat. "According to previous years' contracts, you all employed Zipair Charter Co. as your provider, but they sold out eight months ago to Skytrip Express, meaning Skytrip was now making your planes. Are we on the same page?"

"Affirmative," Hunt said, trying to remember hearing any of this before now.

"How much do you know about Skytrip, Dr. Hunt?" Hunt shook his head once more. "Well, according to our research, Skytrip has a reputation for building planes with mechanical defects."

Hunt perked up. "What?"

Collins retrieved some paperwork of his own then. "Here is an F.A.A. report from 2011 of a Skytrip charter plane whose right engine shut down directly after take-off. The plane was approximately 35 feet off the ground when it failed, so aside from minor bumps and bruises, everyone on-board was fine." He handed Hunt another. "Here's another report of a Skytrip plane that lost electrical power mid-flight. No electrical power means no gauges, monitors, or radars. The plane broke in half on ocean impact, killing fifteen on-board."

Hunt interrupted him then. "Why the hell would the hospital sign with these people?"

Collins shrugged. "I wouldn't know, but I can deduce that it probably seemed like the easiest switch, given the circumstances. Zipair was closing, Skytrip was taking over, they were cheaper, still associated with Bayview, and their logo looked pretty enough." He raised his eyebrows. "It was the path of least resistance."

"So this is how the hospital saves money? By jeopardizing its people? Who the hell approved this without checking the damn safety records?" Hunt had stood, and was leaning on Collins' desk.

Collins looked at Hunt sympathetically. "According to this," he slid another paper over to Owen. "It was you."

Owen grasped the paper tightly in his hands, plopping back into his chair, disbelieving. He was shocked at what he was reading.

 _Bayview Aeronautics Transition Authorization Form_

He scanned through the document to find a signature. _No_.

 _Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital recognizes their choice to terminate Zipair Charter Co. as their primary charter plane provider. X_ _Dr. Owen Hunt, M.D._

He searched through some more to find his name scrawled a second time. _Oh my God._

 _Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital consents to the transfer from Zipair Charter Co. to Skytrip Express as their new primary charter plane provider. X_ _Dr. Owen Hunt, M.D._

He looked back up at Collins. "I did this," he whispered. "I did this?"

Collins simply sighed. "This is what we know about the particular plane your staff was on. The Skytrip 510 has had a history of faulty engines from its manufacture start date in 2001. We think this is probably what happened in this particular instance as well. We lost contact with flight BVA8275 approximately 57 minutes into the trip, so we've deduced that they likely made it to Idaho before their engine failed, and landed somewhere in Payette County, west of French Corner. We have our people searching that area now." He paused, watching Owen read over the form again and again, shaking his head each time he did so. "Now, there's still the possibility that the flight was disrupted, and made an emergency landing, but that possibility is slim. The weather on that day, at that time, and in that location was perfectly acceptable, so no red flags there. We are looking into the pilot, specifically his disciplinary and medical records. You know, make sure he wasn't a drunk, or epileptic, or just incompetent. We think…" he cleared his throat. "We always investigate the possibility that the passengers could have…participated in-"

Hunt looked up from the form and chuckled. "Wait, you think my staff hijacked a plane?"

Collins was quick to respond. "I never said 'hijacked.' I just mean-"

Hunt's laughter saturated the room as Collins spoke. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "I don't know why I'm laughing. It's not funny _. None_ of this is funny. It's just," he started laughing again. "The thought of Lexie or Robbins trying to…" he looked up at Collins. "But y'know, anything's possible, I guess." He grabbed the transfer form with such force that it crumpled the right edge, and shook it in the air. "I signed this monstrosity, so _anything_ is possible."

"Dr. Hunt, I get it. This is an unfathomable situation, but you gotta work with me. You gotta focus. Now, the reason I bring up the potential of passenger intervention is I need-"

"Staff records." Hunt nodded.

"Affirmative. Now if I could just-" Collins' phone vibrated against the wooden desk. He perked up upon looking at the screen. "Excuse me," he said, standing. He walked out of the room and rounded the corner, out of earshot. Hunt busied himself, organizing the staff files, still chuckling in amusement at the prospect of his staff trying to overtake and pilot a plane. Hunt had barely gotten started when Collins walked back into the room. "Hunt, get your shit, and follow me."

Hunt scrunched his brows in confusion. "I'm sorry, did I-"

"We found your people, Dr. Hunt. Alive."

Hunt slowly stood, dumbfounded. He had so many questions running through his head. "A-All of them?"

"All I know is they told me survivors. Plural."

Hunt composed himself and prepared himself for the reunion. "Let's go," he said, gathering his papers and walking out the door.

The next hours could be the best or worst of his life. He had to prepare himself for both possibilities. He took a deep breath as he shut the door of Collins' car.

 _I'm coming, sweetie. I'm coming._


	17. To this Urn Let those Repair

**Thank you for the review on the last chapter. I strayed a little from the canon in having Owen find out about his liability in the crash before they were found rather than later, but with the way I have this story going, Owen needed to find out sooner, so I hope you don't mind.**

 **This one is a short one, so I should have another up in a few days. I finally got some inspiration on where to go and how to finish this story, so if it weren't already apparent, you** _ **will**_ **get the ending you deserve for this story.**

"Cristina, go to sleep. I'm not asking, I'm not suggesting, I'm demanding. Go. To. _Sleep._ " Cristina rolled her eyes. Meredith could be such a mom sometimes.

She had just returned from the second crash site after checking on Lexie, as promised.

 _When she arrived, she was pleased to find that, while obviously tampered with, the rock shielding the martyr's tomb had held through the day. Meredith had insisted on coming with her, fearing Cristina would "get lost" again if she went alone and was surprised to see what Cristina had done. "Are you ever going to let me in on what you were up to last night?" she asked, already anticipating the answer._

 _"No," Cristina replied nonchalantly, pushing back the makeshift door. She leaned into the sheltered area where Lexie rested, completely unphased. "Hey, you made one helluva coach out there last night. We kicked ass." She looked up at Meredith, who looked at her, concerned. Cristina giggled, turning back to Lexie. "Look at her." She gestured with her thumb. "She's so confused." She grew serious suddenly. "I'm sorry for what I'm about to do, but it's for the best of the team." As she retrieved the pocket knife from her coat pocket, Meredith spoke up._

 _"What are you doing?" she asked, worried. Cristina didn't answer but got to work. Meredith heard fabric ripping, and it dawned on her what Cristina was doing. "You're cutting off her scrub top?"_

 _Cristina emerged moments later, tattered blouse in hand. "We need it to pack Arizona's leg. We're out of t-shirt scraps. Lexie didn't mind. I talked to her." She put the door back in place and gestured to Meredith. "Come on."_

Cristina would admit though, she was tired. She had stumbled around on wobbly legs all day just to keep herself awake. She was getting weaker and more delirious by the second, but she had to stay awake. "I'm fine," she mumbled to Meredith as she replaced the old, bloody packing with torn pieces of Lexie's scrub top. Arizona winced as she inserted the balled-up fabric. "Sorry," Cristina muttered, reminding herself to be more careful.

"Seriously. We can handle this, just go to sleep. You're starting to sound like a schizo."

Cristina wanted to scoff, but she had no energy to do anything except put one foot in front of the other, so to speak. There weren't many things she didn't trust Meredith with, but this was one of them. She was going to live, dammit, and she wasn't going to let Meredith screw it up for her. She was just about to respond when Arizona spoke up. "Cristina," she said, eyeing Mark with troubled eyes. She looked up at Cristina. "I can't find a pulse."

Cristina looked at Mark, agitated. "Seriously?" she asked him, her words beginning to slur. "Another effusion, Mark? We _talked_ about this. Just because you lost Lexie doesn't mean you get to die on us. Man up."

"Okay, you know the drill. Derek," Meredith called out. He trotted over. "Cristina, clean the knife with whatever's left of the hand sanitizer. Arizona, grab me that tube out of the backpack. Clean that too. Mark," she said, crouching down to eye level. "You know the drill too. It's gonna hurt like hell, but stay still. Don't move." She looked up at Derek. "Hold him down. I'm going in." She took the knife from Cristina and reopened his incision. He screamed out in pain and arched his back as she made the cut. "The worst is over, Mark. You're about to feel a lot better." She started to reinsert the tube when Cristina spoke up.

"Don't puncture th-"

"Heart. I _know_ , Cristina," she snapped.

Cristina mumbled to herself, "I was gonna say liver, but whatever."

Suddenly, Mark gasped a huge gulp of air as cream-tinted, opaque liquid spewed out of the tube. "Okay, done."

"At least it's just pericardial fluid this time," Arizona said, checking his pulse. "His heart rate is back up."

"Hey, you think leather is edible? I mean, it comes from an animal, right?" Cristina asked, feeling the faux leather plane seats. Everyone stared at her, dumbfounded. "What?"


	18. That the Self was Not the Same

**Hello, all. I am so sorry for the late update. I recently got a job out of area and had to relocate, so I've spent the last few hellish weeks moving across state, which as you can imagine, has not been a pleasant task. That being said, I'm posting two chapters today in the hopes that it will make up for my failure to post. Also, I don't think this chapter provides a good cliffhanger, but the next one does, so I figured I would just pair them up. Hope you all enjoy.**

That night, Meredith and Cristina found themselves huddled up against the wall where Arizona and Mark were. They feared that Mark would code in the night, and they would either be asleep or delirious and wouldn't be able to revive him. Cristina was closest to Mark and therefore furthest from the plane's protection against the bitter wind. She reached up and took Mark's hand, checking his pulse dutifully. After finding that it was normal, she should've let go. Instead, her hand lingered there _. God, he's warm_ , she thought, gripping his hand tighter _. He wouldn't mind if I just_ She snapped from her thoughts, rising clumsily to her feet. Meredith looked up at her, slowly. "Where are you going?"

"Find something to drink," she muttered, nearly incomprehensibly. She stumbled forward, feeling her way through the darkness.

"Cristina, there's nothing left. You gave the rest to Arizona, remember?" Meredith was trying to be patient, but her will was slowly running out.

"I know there's a well around here somewhere. Mom said there was."

 _Mom?_ "Your mom told you there was a well?"

"Yeah, she said-oh! Here it is! I found it!" she laughed, crouching to the underside of the plane.

Meredith's eyes widened. "Cristina, don't drink…" she paused as Cristina emerged with dark fluid running down her mouth. Too late. "That," she finished, sighing. Cristina clutched her stomach.

"Oh, that didn't sit well," she said, looking at the ground. "Must've been…" she paused to burp. "Polluted water. Damn gas companies can't leave a perfectly good river alone."

 _I'll say._ "That was plane fuel. You're going to want to throw that up before it burns a hole in your stomach." Meredith turned then to focus on Mark's abandoned hand, ensuring his pulse was still healthy.

"You don't have to tell me twice." Cristina emptied the fuel out of her stomach, gasping loudly with each wave.

Arizona groaned, waking from Cristina's loud dry heaving. "Wh-What happened?"

"She drank plane fuel," Meredith responded, holding Cristina up and shaking her head.

"Cristina, you're going to get yourself killed if you don't get some sleep. It's been nearly four days since you last slept. It'll be fine." Arizona was trying to be supportive, but felt guilty because she had been sleeping moments before, the exact reason, she knew, that Cristina was staying awake: because none of the rest of them would.

"I'm fine. I just gott-gotta find" she gulped, her voice a raspy whisper. "something to drink." She checked her own pulse. "My pulse is weak. It has to be soon. I'll be back," she said, breaking out of Meredith's hold on her and stumbling around the side of the plane. "Don't follow me."

Meredith sat back on her heels weakly. "Where are you going?"

"Just around the corner, don't worry." After a moment, Meredith heard what sounded like water trickling out of a faucet, then someone sipping.

"Cristina, what did you do?" Meredith yelled as loudly as her voice would allow.

Cristina used the plane to guide her back around to the side where Meredith, Mark, and Arizona rested. "The unthinkable" she responded, plopping back down next to Meredith.

Meredith looked over at her. "Urine?" Cristina nodded, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the plane. Meredith shrugged. "No judgements here. Can't say it never crossed my mind."

Arizona raised her hand. "I second that."

Cristina looked at them. "I had to convince myself it was lemonade." She sighed. "At least it wasn't plane fuel."


	19. Keep the Obsequy So Strict

**This is the SECOND chapter I am posting today, so for those skipping to the last chapter, I've posted two. Be sure to read the one before this as well and as always, please enjoy.**

Derek and Meredith were off getting more firewood when it happened. It was early the next morning, and Cristina had spent the night on her knees posted directly across from a tree, practicing her throwing. She had counted 986 throws, but she had lost count two or three times already, so her true total was unknown. She could no longer throw farther than three feet, so she was planted just far enough from the tree that the rocks wouldn't bounce back and hit her, but that she could also still manage to hit the tree.

She heard a buzzing overhead but didn't even bother to look up. Six times now that she could remember, she had thought she was hearing the exact noise. It would just be cruel for her to look up a seventh time. Suddenly, Arizona bellowed loudly. "CRISTINA, LOOK!"

She looked at Arizona then. "What?"

" _Up,_ you idiot! Look up!" She was pointing frantically at the sky.

Cristina hesitantly tilted her head up to find that a chopper was hovering overhead. " _Oh my God!"_ She jumped to her feet, feeling a burst of energy overwhelm her. She ran directly under the plane and waved her good hand, screaming along with Arizona and Jerry. _I accidentally fell asleep. This isn't real, Cristina. It's not real. Just wake the fuck up so that when the really come, you'll be prepared._ Her flawed logic, the resultant of trauma, sleep deprivation, and exhaustion, would soon fade as the chopper finally made contact with the ground.

"Ma'am, ma'am, are you okay?" One of the rescuers grabbed her shoulder, but she jerked violently away.

"No, I'm not fucking okay!" She didn't know why she had the instinct to fear this man. "But they're worse. Get them first," she replied pointing toward Arizona, Jerry, and Mark.

He turned to the other men. "On it," one of them said, leading four other men to the wounded trio.

The man turned again to Cristina. "My name is Will Mathis. I'm going to get you out of here," he said, reaching for Cristina again. She jerked again, stumbling backward, and almost falling to the ground. He called something over his walkie talkie, but Cristina could not discern what. "Ma'am, I know you've been through a lot," he said gently, inching his way toward her, "but I need you to trust me."

"There are others," she said, her voice shaking. "Meredith Grey and Derek Shepherd."

Will stopped then. "And where are they?"

"They went for firewood. Th-Th-They should be back any minute, er, actually, I don't know that they will be. I don't know how long they've been gone."

 _Poor lady,_ Will thought. _Probably been gone for days. Maybe even died in the crash._ "Okay, we'll find them. Just come with me."

"No, you can't leave them!" Cristina shouted. Will gestured to one of his men positioned behind Cristina. He approached her cautiously, and before she knew it, she was restrained tightly. " _No!"_ she screamed, trying to kick, hit, headbutt, anything she could manage to do to get away. "You can't leave them! You can't-" she gasped for air as the man restrained her wrists to the gurney. "leave them," she cried then. "Meredith!" she screamed, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Derek!"

" _Help!"_ she heard in the distance. _Meredith!_

Suddenly, they came into view. "See, there they are! There they are!"

Will looked then toward the forest. "I'll be damned," he said. "Go! Go get them on gurneys," he said to his men.

"There they are," Cristina smiled then, relieved that everyone had made it out okay. They were okay. They were all okay…suddenly, her demeanor changed. Her lips turned down and her brain began to fail, it seemed. Her eyesight started to fade into blackness, and her hearing grew dimmer and dimmer by the second. _What is happening to me?_ She wanted to panic; to blink; to speak, but she couldn't. Her body wouldn't let her. _What the hell is happening?_


	20. If What Parts Can So Remain

**Here are the next two installments of the story. In the next chapter, I wanted to note that I had to find a way to incorporate Webber and Bailey into the story, as well as Zola, because they appear in the show at the hospital in Boise. If you care to, let me know what you thought about the way I included them. Inquiring minds want to know.**

 **As always, thanks for the review, and enjoy.**

"Hunt, what's the news?" Hunt was in Collins' vehicle on his way to the hospital to wait for the chopper when he decided to call Webber.

"They found them. They found our guys," Owen said, not believing his own words.

Webber was silent for a second. "How _many_ of our guys?"

Owen blew out a breath, shaking his head. "I don't know. I don't know. They just said that more than one survived." He rubbed his face roughly. "It doesn't matter. I just need you to get on the next plane out to Boise."

"Say no more. I'm on my way." Hunt heard the phone beep, indicating Webber had hung up.

"Any more news, Collins?" Hunt asked from the passenger seat.

"Yeah, actually." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I've been notified that they found six survivors."

Hunt looked at him incredulously. "So you mean all of th-"

"One was the pilot, Hunt." Hunt's face turned dark and downfallen.

His eyes filled with tears. _Cristina._ He had waited for this moment for four days: the moment Collins told him his wife was dead. His worst nightmare was coming to life. He had tried to prepare himself as adequately as he could manage, but how does one prepare for something like that? How can one possibly come to terms with losing the love of their life so unexpectedly? "Did they give a name? To the…one we lost?" he asked quietly.

Collins prepared then for the man to break down on him. "Lexie Grey." He said it simply, not wanting to give any reaction either way.

Hunt immediately slumped in the chair and covered his face with his hands. "Oh…God," he said. He wanted to _thank_ God, but how could he thank God when Lexie was still dead? _Oh Lexie,_ he thought sadly. _Meredith must be devastated._

Collins looked at him sympathetically. "My deepest condolences, Hunt. I can't imagine what it would be like to lose a loved one like that."

"Cristina Yang," he said softly, forcing his hands into his lap. "My wife is Cristina Yang."

Collins raised his eyebrows. "Oh, well…" he cleared his throat. "That's-that's…" How does one respond to something like that?

"What's her condition?" Hunt asked, his worry returning.

"I've been told she's stable."

Another guff of relief from Hunt. "And the others?"

"Let's see…Meredith Grey: stable, Derek Shepard: stable, Arizona Robbins: critical, Mark Sloan: critical, Jerry Gosz: critical."

Hunt nodded. He could lose three of his staff today; three of his _friends_ , no less, but they were all doctors. They all had emergency training. Hell, he had taught them emergency training. They survived this long, they could continue to survive.

Just then, they swerved into the hospital parking lot. Collins put the car in park. "Ready?"

Hunt nodded. "Affirmative, sir."

They both walked into the hospital, neither of them knowing what to expect, but something they both learned that day was never to expect the worst.


	21. Death is Now the Phoenix' Nest

**I've posted two chapters at once, so be sure to read the one before this as well. Enjoy.**

"Hunt," Webber called out, jogging toward the pair sitting in the hospital waiting area. They both stood at the sight of Dr. Webber. "What's going on? Where are the others?"

Hunt sighed. "They arrived just a few minutes ago. This damn hospital won't give me privileges, given the nature of the situation." He turned away for a brief moment, composing himself. "I mean, I am the _Chief_ of _Surgery_ at a world-renowned teaching hospital, and they won't give me privileges." He pointed a finger at Webber and Collins. "And moreover, I'm a _trauma_ surgeon. I specialize in _exactly what they're dealing with!_ What kind of bullshit is that?"

"Alright Hunt, just cool off. Sit down, and wait for an update. You said it yourself: you're a trauma surgeon, so you know what having too many people in the room can do for a situation. Sometimes, less is more." They all sat back down, and Hunt forced himself to take deep breaths. _Don't come back now_ , he thought, fighting off the urge to hyperventilate. _You can break down later. Not now. You can't do this now._ He went through the exercises Dr. Wyatt had taught him what seemed like a lifetime ago. "So, what's the newest on them?" Webber broke his thoughts, causing him to look up.

"Uh," where did he start? "Meredith is stable, Derek is stable, Arizona is critical, Cristina is stable, and Mark is critical. That's all we know." Webber nodded thoughtfully.

"And Lexie?" he asked cautiously. Hunt looked him in the eye, then at the floor, shaking his head. Webber mimicked Hunt, also gazing solemnly at the floor. "God, she was…so young." He looked back up at the pair. "Have you called the families yet?"

"No, I was waiting to get full status reports before calling, but maybe we ought to at least get them on their ways." Hunt moved for his phone, but Webber stopped him.

"I'll take care of that. You should wait here, in case they-"

"Dr. Hunt." A woman in a lab coat appeared then, carrying a clipboard. She held out her hand. "Dr. Sheehan. Nice to finally meet you. I only wish it were under better circumstances," she said shortly.

Hunt took her hand firmly. "Likewise."

"And you are?" she turned to Richard, seeming quite frazzled.

"Dr. Webber. We worked on a case together in 2009." He smiled, taking her hand.

"Oh, right. Yes, I remember that. The total gastrectomy trial." She smiled, warmly. She looked down at her clipboard then. "I'd like to take you back to see your people now, if you're ready."

Hunt looked back at Collins. "This is Major General Collins. He's-"

"Yes, his team retrieved them. He's obviously welcome as well," she said politely, a stern frown on her face.

Collins stood, nodding. "I appreciate it ma'am, but if I could go ahead and speak with my team now, I'd be grateful."

"Of course." She spoke briefly with presumably an intern and turned back to Collins. "If you'll follow this young man, he can take you to them."

Collins nodded, and turned to Hunt. "Hunt, we'll be in touch. Legal matters, and such. I'm glad things worked out for you."

He shook Collins' hand. "Thank you, sir. You can't imagine how grateful we are."

"You've got a long road ahead of you. Just take it one day at a time. You'll be fine."

Hunt nodded and chuckled to himself. Before he could respond, Collins had turned, following the intern.

 _You don't even know the half of it._

Webber and Owen started down the hallway with Sheehan, when they heard a voice behind them. "Hold up, I'm coming."

They all turned to find a sight neither of them expected to see. "Bailey?" Hunt asked, scrunching his eyebrows. He watched as she approached and realized she had a baby in her arms. "Is that Zola?"

She caught up with them, not bothering to stop and chat. "Good news travels fast. I suggest we do the same."


	22. Co-supremes and Stars of Love

**This is one of my favorite chapters. I tend to get a little soft when it comes to Owen and Cristina and perhaps even a little repetitive, so I hope you'll forgive me for that. I just feel like given Owen's personality, he would be especially attentive and gentle with Cristina during this time. Anyway, as usual, please enjoy.**

Dr. Sheehan walked quickly through the hallways with Richard and Owen. Bailey had split off with another doctor to tend to Arizona. They had agreed to meet up with her later. "The combination of extreme exhaustion, dehydration, and exposure seems to have put her in a state."

"What do you mean?" Richard asked hesitantly.

Hunt's heart shattered when he reached Cristina's hospital room and peered in. He wasn't listening to a word Dr. Sheehan said. He just needed to get to her. Her eyes were open wide and black as night as she lay like a stone, completely unmoving. He moved toward her rapidly, concern filling him as he approached her bed. His heart broke even more when he saw that she was restrained. _Don't worry. I'm going to get you out of those. You're not dangerous. I know._ He wanted to see her; to hold her; to comfort her in whatever way she would allow him to. _I'm going to get you out of this._

"We think it's reactive psychosis." He had tuned Sheehan out completely, unlatching the railing on her bed. "She's unresponsive and then when we go to examine her, she becomes…violent." Owen sat on her bed then, taking her in. Her face was covered in dirt and her hair filled with twigs, but she was the most beautiful sight he had ever witnessed. She had come back to him, and he was never letting her go again.

"I'm here, okay?" he said softly, tenderly. He needed her to know it was him, her husband, the man who loved her so deeply, and needed so desperately for her to be okay. He started to unbuckle the restraints on her wrists, becoming angered that they had gone to such drastic lengths.

"I wouldn't do that." This just angered him further, but Richard handled it for him.

"It's alright," he said, watching with curiosity.

Truthfully, he didn't know how violent she had been until he unbuckled the second cuff, and she launched her arm at him forcefully. He understood then, why they needed the restraints. "Whoa," he said, reacting quickly to her attack. He caught her hand in both of his as she fought against him unrelentingly. "All right. All right," he struggled against her as he tried to soothe her. He noticed she didn't fight with her whole body, just her arms. It was most certainly reactive, he decided. She didn't know what she was doing. "Cristina," he held the flailing arm in one hand and cradled her with the other pulling her tight against him. "I'm going to help you. I'm going to help you," he repeated. "Cristina, I'm here," he soothed, and she suddenly gave up her fight, allowing him to hold her. "I'm here. I'm here. I'm here." He cradled her head and said it over and over again, assuring her that he was there, and he was not going anywhere. "Cristina, I'm here now." He rocked her gently, so grateful to have her back in his arms. "It's okay," he soothed, softly stroking her hair as he spoke. "I'm going to help you. Shh." His tender words slowed her heart rate, and he felt her slightly relax in his embrace.

They sat like that for a few moments before Webber spoke up. "Hunt, you stay here and take care of her. Miranda and I can manage the rest."

Hunt nodded in their embrace, unwilling to let her go. "Thank you," he said quietly, not wanting to spook her by speaking too loudly.

Dr. Sheehan and Dr. Webber left them alone then, but Hunt did not let her go. His eyes filled with tears as he continued to rock her back and forth, rubbing her back slowly; gently. He couldn't bear to see her like this. She was in so much pain, and it killed him. He pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek, stifling a sob. "Shh," he held her tighter to him when she jerked in his arms. "Don't worry. I'm here." He had said the phrase so many times, but it never lost its meaning. Not to him. "I'm here, Cristina, and I'm never letting you go again. Do you hear me?" He pressed another kiss to her shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to take care of you, okay?" He rested his forehead on her shoulder. "I've got you."

She had relaxed her body to the point that he didn't fear she would try to attack him again, so he gently laid her back in the bed. He looked at her then, heartbroken at her disheveled form. Her stomach was distended. That was the dehydration, but her skin was taught against her body, allowing bones in her body to protrude that he had hoped he would never have to see. He cautiously brought a hand to her head, and stroked her hair soothingly. She was already so skinny. She couldn't afford not to eat.

She violently grabbed for his hand then, but he caught it, gently this time, rubbing it tenderly between his two warm palms. "It's okay, sweetheart. It's still me," he whispered, lowering it back to the bed. He ran his fingers down one side of her cheek, sighing.

He noticed a water-filled tub on the bedside table with a sponge floating on top. He reached for it, squeezing out the excess water. He found the control for her bed and used it to maneuver her to an upright position. He brought the sponge to her face, and she jerked violently, throwing her head back, her expression unchanging. He recoiled at the rejection. "Shh, it's okay. It's okay," he repeated, understandingly, making a second attempt to touch her. This time, she allowed him the privilege. He gently smeared away the dirt from her cheek, the intense need to take care of her prevalent. He moved to her forehead, careful not to disrupt the deep laceration near her hairline. _She's exhausted,_ he thought as he brushed away the dirt under her sunken eyes. _I'm going to have to sedate her._ He hated the thought of it, but he knew it was a necessity.

After he finished with her face, he moved to her body. "You're going to feel a lot better when we're through," he said sprightly, trying to lift her spirits. He went to close the door and blinds in her room to give them some privacy, then untied her gown, sliding it down her body. He immediately saw why she could only use one hand to fight with. Her left shoulder blade was a deep blue. He pushed the hair back against his head. How could this happen? How could any of this happen? Mindful of her shoulder, he softly ran the sponge down her back several times, tediously cleaning the dirt away. "I bet you can't wait to go back to Seattle where it's familiar. I've already made the arrangements." He looked at her, hoping for a reaction. He didn't get one. "Once Arizona and Mark are stable enough, we're going to get you home." He hoped the sound of his voice was calming her. He moved to her front side, taking equal care to make sure he removed all of the dirt.

He had almost finished with her torso when she started shaking violently. He pulled back, alarmed. He looked at her monitor to ensure she wasn't having a seizure, but she was still stable. She still wore the same emotionless expression as he looked her over. It was then that the realization hit him. "You're cold." He had noticed that her skin was freezing, but she hadn't displayed any symptoms to suggest to him that she was uncomfortable until now. "Okay. Okay," he said, pulling a blanket from one of the shelves. He pulled the gown back over her shoulders and tied it in place. "You're okay," he said again, covering her shoulders with the soft fabric. He rubbed her shoulders slowly, trying to create friction, but she still shook.

He watched her eyes as he did so, but they revealed nothing, so he sighed then, removing his shoes. He thought she might revert to attack mode, but he chanced it anyway, supporting her back as he hoisted a leg on the bed and maneuvered around her. Leaning himself against the pillows with a leg on either side of her, he rested her against his chest. She didn't react, which was a good sign, at least. He rubbed her shoulders soothingly, whispering sweet words in her ear as he did so. Finally, the trembling ceased, and he rested his hands on her biceps.

He looked down at her hair, infested with grass, twigs, and knots. He moved his hands to her scalp then, removing each foreign object with care, simultaneously searching for any unidentified lacerations or infections. He was about halfway through with his endeavor when he noticed her breathing was shallow. "Cristina?" he muttered, craning his neck to look at her face. Her black, empty eyes were shielded by her eyelids as she breathed slowly. In and out. He sighed in relief, leaning back against the pillows. He resumed his task, careful not to wake her in the process. He found one small cut on the right side of her scalp, but it didn't concern him much.

When he finished, he cupped either side of her head, and pressed his lips to the crown, breathing her in. Despite the hell she had gone through, she still smelled like Cristina; she resembled Cristina. He just hoped one day she would _be_ his Cristina again.


	23. Truth May Seem but Cannot Be

**Thank you to both of my guest reviewers for the feedback. I love hearing from my readers.**

 **Before you read this chapter, I think it's important to note that, from the outset of this story, I wanted to fill in the gaps of the plane crash from all sides, especially from Cristina's point of view, both internally and externally. This chapter really delves into Cristina's psyche and her way of coping with the accident.**

 **I did** _ **extensive**_ **research on reactive psychosis, but nothing I found could really explain her reaction upon being wheeled into the hospital/Owen's arrival, so I got creative. Dr. Sheehan mentions that her state was a state brought on by "extreme exhaustion, dehydration, and exposure," so I don't think these delusions you're about to read are too farfetched. I'm trying to explain my process without giving too much away, and now, I'm rambling, so without further ado…**

"Hold her! Get some restraints!" _Why are the coyotes talking? What the hell is this?_ Cristina fought valiantly against the doctors, her heart racing out of her chest, but to no avail. _Shit, they've got me! They're going to finish me off, limb by limb._ "Two of lorazepam, now!" _No, no, no! Now they've learned how to administer medicine? What fucking planet am I on?_ Cristina had lost her vision entirely after the rescuers found Derek and Meredith, as well as most of her hearing, but she was able to discern most of what was happening. _I…have to…save_ but the lorazepam had taken its effect. "Calm do…" was the last thing she heard before falling into a deep slumber.

 _I'm alive?_ was the first thought she had upon awakening. _Why would they keep me alive? They were so hungry before._ Suddenly, she felt a hand on her face. She tried to thrust her arm up to defend herself, but she was trapped. _They must be studying me before they kill me. I mean, these things can give me lorazepam, so they must be a lot smarter than I give them credit for._ "Okay, her eyes look good. Can you follow my finger? _Finger?_ There was a pause, and she thought they might have left, but then she heard one of them sigh. "We'll try again later." She heard the deep voice mumbling something, and a more feminine voice respond. _Plotting my demise, no doubt._

Then, she heard no more. She had no idea how long she laid there, eyes wide open, and for what? But she couldn't sleep. No, she had to get out of there and save the others. They had probably already killed Arizona. Her injuries would render her useless to them. Mark, however, might've survived. If they were interested in medicine, the hillbilly procedure they did on him would likely intrigue them. Derek and Meredith were likely in the same situation as she was in. Their injuries weren't too bad, and they were doctors too. Plus, the last time she checked, they were fairly coherent, so they may already be working for the coyotes against their wills. How long had it been, exactly? How long would they keep her chained to a bed for observation?

Just then, she heard a familiar female voice approaching her. She caught the butt end of her words. "seems to have put her in a state." She tensed at the sound of her voice, remembering their last encounter.

 _"Lorazepam, now! Now!"_

"What do you mean?" Now that was a _very_ familiar voice, but she couldn't place it. Where had she heard that…

Just then, she heard metal clank against her bed, and a voice she immediately recognized fill her ears. "I'm here, okay?" _Owen._ Dopamine flooded her system. She was overjoyed. Suddenly, the world was no longer black, but blurry and full of vague figures. For a brief second, she thought that it might actually _be_ Owen, but that reasoning faded rapidly. _They're trying to get me to trust them by introducing me to something familiar. Fucking bastards._

"I wouldn't do that." She heard the female voice again. _Listen to the woman._ Nonetheless, the stupid coyote released her from her chains, and she immediately fought against him. _You've made a grave mistake. I'm an excellent pitcher, and I will knock you out before you even know what hit you._

Then she felt his hand, and she questioned her earlier assessment. He felt so good; so warm and familiar. _It's not Owen. Keep fighting. It's not Owen._ Then he touched her back and a flood of memories overwhelmed her. She wanted to cry, but she couldn't. She couldn't even manage to move her face. _It's not Owen. It's not Owen,_ she repeated to herself. "I'm here. I'm here." _How did they do that? How did they make an Owen clone?_ _Maybe…_ then, he cupped her head and pressed her tight against her. _It's Owen,_ she thought with relief. _He's here_. "I'm here." _He's really here._ She relaxed then, looking around at her prison cell to find it looked like a hospital room, from what she could see through her extremely blurred vision. She knew it was him, beyond a shadow of a doubt. She wanted to hug him back; to cry; to do anything but sit limply in his arms, but she couldn't. _Why can't I move? Why can't I see? Why can't I do anything? Owen, help me!_ Owen's words interrupted her, soothing her frustrations. "It's okay. I'm going to help you. Shh." She let Owen embrace her, and relaxed completely in his arms as he rocked her like an infant.

She didn't feel him move from that spot until she felt something graze her cheek. _No!_ She tried to jerk back. _I knew this was a ploy! What kind of mutant coyotes are these?_ He held her tighter, and calmed her once more, ensuring her that it was him. "Shh, don't worry. I'm here." She was so confused, and desperate to live. She couldn't take any chances, but…no. She knew Owen like the back of her hand. Even after a heavy dose of lorazepam, and crazy from exhaustion, she knew it was him. When he kissed her a second time, she allowed him to do so, absolutely sure of his identity. "I'm going to take care of you. I've got you _." How are you going to take care of me when I can't even move? How are you possibly going to fix this when we're both trapped here?_

After not nearly enough time, she felt him release her, and she laid back on the bed _. Where did you go?_ As if he had heard her, she felt a hand on her head. She reacted out of instinct, grabbing for the attacker. She felt his large hands envelope her small ones, and immediately surrendered. "It's okay, sweetheart. It's still me." _Sorry. Habit._

Cristina began to grow anxious when she didn't hear his voice, but now she at least had some vision to go by, and a muffled version of her hearing back. His head disappeared from view for a moment, but then she felt a vibration from under her, and her view started to tilt. Her heart was racing. _What is happening? Where is Owen?_ Suddenly, the sensation stopped, and she realized she was sitting up. When Owen appeared again, he held something vaguely yellow in his hand _What are you doing wi-OH!_ She jerked her head back violently, as did Owen. _Jesus, what was that?_ It was warm, but wet and suspicious to Cristina. Owen's words made her relax her muscles. "Shh, It's okay. It's okay." _I trust you._ She saw it nearing her face again, and this time, she fought the urge to jump. He brushed the object along her cheeks, her forehead, her chin, and under her eyelids, and it felt _so nice_. She felt the need to sleep then, much calmer than she was before, but then she remembered. _Owen, where is Meredith? Where are the others?_ Oh, how she wished she could just talk, dammit.

He finished then, and she immediately craved his touch. He moved away, shuffling around the room. She heard the door close, and she thought for a moment that someone else had come in, or Owen had left, but then he came back into her line of vision. He touched her shoulders, and again, she resisted her primal instinct to flinch. "You're going to feel a lot better when we're through." _I already do._ She felt a rush of cold air hit her skin, and crumpled fabric on her fingertips. _What are they trying to do? Freeze me to death?_ She felt the object again on her back and relaxed once more. After it made several trips up and down her spine and across her shoulder blades, Cristina felt the cold air hit her again, much sharper this time. _Owen, stop. I'm freezing._ "I bet you can't wait to go back to Seattle, where it's familiar. I've already made the arrangements." She forget her discomfort for a second. _Seattle? How are we possibly going to manage to escape?_ "Once Arizona and Mark are stable enough, we're going to get you home." _Wait…Arizona and Mark are alive?! You've seen them?! What the hell is all of this?_ He offered no more information, probably, she thought, because he had to save it for a more appropriate time. It didn't matter. Her friends were safe, though he hadn't mentioned Meredith or Derek yet.

Once he moved to her front side, she remembered the discomfort. _Oh God it's-It's so cold,_ she thought, wishing he would stop. _I-I'm so cold._ He had moved from left to right, top to bottom, and it wasn't until he reached her stomach that she felt a sensation for the first time. She had always been ticklish, so the sensation was nothing new to her, but it was the first time that she'd woken up that she could feel something so distinct. It triggered her ability to respond to him, and she started to shake uncontrollably, unable to grab the blankets, or her gown, for that matter, directly in front of her to cover up with. _Owen, make it stop._ She heard him walk quickly around the room before he finally responded. "You're cold." _Yes, I'm absolutely frigid! Now, help me!_ "Okay. Okay," he said softly. _Thank you._ She felt her gown slid back up her torso and settle in place. _Better._ She still shook, but she knew that she would stop in a sec- _Oh_. She felt something soft settle on her shoulders. "You're okay." _Yeah, much better._ She wanted to pull it around her and thank him, but it was a futile effort. She felt his firm hands slowly glide up and down her arms in an attempt to warm her up. _God, I love you._ Despite her best efforts, that sensation had been triggered, and she was now completely at a loss for control of her body once more. She continued to shake, even as warmth returned rapidly to her body.

His hands left her again, and she immediately felt colder. _You've always been such a tease._ Suddenly, she felt his hand on her back as she was pushed forward so that she was looking at the bed. A heavy weight rested on the bed behind her, and she could feel his body warmth before she made contact. Once she did though, it was euphoric. She felt the blanket cover her front torso as well now, and Owen's hands once again on her arms, making their way from top to bottom. She decided that she couldn't remember a time when she had felt more comfortable in all her life. _Oh, finally,_ she thought as her convulsions came to a stop. Again, she felt Owen remove his hands, but almost immediately, she felt them in her hair. She had always loved it when he played with her hair. _He must've remembered._ Every once in a while, she felt a slight snag as he ran his hands through it, but it didn't hurt bad enough to bother her much. It didn't take long for her eyelids to start drooping. She tried to fight it, but Owen's trusting touch was gradually lulling her into a sleep she couldn't resist any longer. The last thing she heard before her world went black once more was Owen's comforting voice. "Cristina?" She didn't answer. She couldn't. Sleep had already taken its hold.


	24. Let the Priest in Surplice White

**Another chapter up. I'm so happy with the response to the last chapter. Thank you all for the support. To reviewer Mike: Rest assured, I also chuckled as I was writing it. I love that someone has as twisted a sense of humor as I do.**

Owen remained vigilant at his post throughout that day and night, having a nurse sedate her so that he could tend to the gash on her temple without scaring her. As he weaved the sutures into her head, he stared at her lovingly, just knowing that once they returned to Seattle, she would be okay. He finished the last suture and cleaned up before making his way back to her bed with supplies to dress the wound. He turned around in the chair to cut a piece of gauze when he caught a movement from the corner of his eye. He shifted his head to see Cristina, sleepy-eyed and reaching for the sky, on the alert for anything threatening. He slowly reached for her hand, cradling it in both of his. "That wore off quickly," he said smiling, rubbing circles below her knuckles. She craned her head to look at him, surprising him. She hadn't done that yet. "How do you feel?" She simply returned her head and looked at the ceiling. He sighed. It was progress, at least.

He sat like that for a while, and she allowed him to. "I need to dress the laceration on your forehead now," he said quietly. She didn't respond, prompting him to continue. He turned again to grab his supplies and began his work. "Your vitals are looking great," he said optimistically. "Your sodium and potassium levels are almost normal, and the urinalysis didn't show anything concerning." He put the finishing touches on the dressing and smoothed her hair back. "Mark did a decent job popping your shoulder back into place. The tendons were strained, but they should heal in due time." She still made no move to respond, but he saw her BP elevate slightly. He stroked her cheek tenderly. "There's nothing to worry about. You'll be back in the O.R. in no time." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Oh, I checked in on-" A squeaky wheel interrupted him, causing him to look toward the doorway. "Meredith," he said, surprised to see her out of bed. "You shouldn't be out of bed." He stood to help her. She was on wobbly legs and leaning against a very unsteady IV stand. "You should…" The look on her face told her not to try and stop her. " _I_ should be leaving now," he said smiling. He walked to the doorway and assisted her into the bed with Cristina.

He ran into Webber in the hallway on his way to check on the others. "Hunt," he greeted.

"How are things? What's the status report?"

Webber sighed. "Ah, well, Arizona's stable enough to go back. Surprisingly, her levels were more promising than the rest. I was told they kept a close eye on her leg while they were out there, and they gave her the last of the water, so it all adds up."

Hunt nodded. "Good, good."

"Derek's sodium levels are a little lower than I'd like, and his arm has a slight infection, but that's nothing an hour-long plane ride would harm." He paused, thinking. "Meredith is still pretty weak. Mostly malnutrition, and her electrolytes are borderline. I'd give it the day. See how she holds up."

"And Mark?"

Webber sighed, staring at the ground. "It's not looking good. They did a damn good job out there keeping him alive. I don't know that I could've done it. Nevertheless, his heart suffered a heavy blow. We think it was largely due to the crash itself, but with multiple pericardiocenteses in an unsanitary environment with a pocket knife and a tube pulled from a spray bottle?" He blew out a guff of air, and shook his head. "It's taking its toll."

Hunt looked down too, thoughtfully. "How are his vitals?"

"As you can imagine, they're not good either. I wouldn't say he's hanging on by a thread, but we're wading in pretty damn muddy waters. He's in surgery now. We should know more by tomorrow morning." He looked at Hunt hesitantly. "Arizona and Derek need their surgeries as soon as we can possibly get them done, so if it comes down to leaving Mark here with one of us until he's stable enough to travel, we need to bite the bullet and do it."

"Let's cross that bridge when we get to it, but I think you're right. I'll go ahead and let them know we're heading out tomorrow night at the latest. If Mark's not stable enough by then, we can assign someone to stay behind until he's ready."

"Sounds like a plan," Webber said. "How's Cristina? I've been meaning to check in, but with the others…"

Hunt waved his hand. "You've had a lot on your plate. I appreciate you taking the load." He pushed his hair back against his head. "Cristina, uh, she's well, more responsive than yesterday. She's still not talking, but she's at least acknowledging my presence." He chuckled. "Her injuries were minor, miraculously. Most of her recovery will be psychological. She's still dealing with the last major trauma in her life, so this one is just adding fuel to the fire."

"Has she had another episode?"

"Yesterday, she had multiple, but I think sleep did her a lot of good. Today? I haven't been with her much today. She just woke up about twenty minutes ago, and she had a brief attack. I think it was just an instinctual response coming right out of a heavy sedation, but I'll keep a close eye on it." He nodded solemnly, trying to be optimistic.

"She's making progress, Hunt. That's more than we expected this early in the game."

"Yeah…yeah." He looked up, remembering what he wanted to ask Webber. "Oh, uh," he pointed his thumb back toward Cristina's room. "Meredith just came by. Do you know…"

Webber snapped his fingers, his face indicating realization. "Yes, that's who I was just out looking for. She wasn't in her room, so I assumed she had hobbled over there."

The men chuckled. "We should probably think about conjoining them," Hunt joked.

"They'd be a lot easier to find that way," Webber remarked.

The two parted ways then, and Hunt went to check on his other staff, feeling guilty that he hadn't already. He pondered Richard's words as he wandered the hallways of Boise Memorial.

 _She's making progress…that's more than we expected…"_

He was right. Cristina was going to be fine. They were _all_ going to be fine.


	25. Simple were So Well Compounded

**Just for future reference, I don't intend to do these double scenes forever; just until Cristina becomes a little more responsive, since we're mostly in her head at this point. Hopefully, you all enjoy.**

 _"Get back!" Cristina bellowed, waving the pocket knife wildly in front of her. Coyote taming was not Cristina's specialty, but she fought valiantly, albeit ineffectively, against them to protect her fallen comrade. She had miscalculated the initial number of coyotes, approximating just two, but found upon arriving at the site that there were closer to five or six. She was correct, however, in assuming that a screaming human wielding a pocket knife would scare them. Four of them ran for the hills, but the remaining two jumped back, startled, then commenced growling at her menacingly. 'Damn, they must be really hungry to fuck with an armed, deranged lunatic.'_

 _"I am. A. Cardiothoracic. Goddess," she screamed, pausing between her words to swing the knife at them. "I will not go down like this!" She heaved generously for air, as she kept her wide eyes on the coyotes. They continued to growl, unyielding. She kept them a couple of yards back, keeping them at bay with her arm stretched out, knife in hand. She gulped. 'Maybe this was a bad idea,' she thought, her heart pounding in her ears._

 _Just then, the one just out of sight, but still in her peripheral vision, lunged toward her. "No, no, no, no!" But Cristina saw it coming too late. The coyote's force knocked her to the ground. She fought wildly with the knife. "HELP!" she screamed using her one good hand to fend off the coyote. It wasn't long before the second one joined in, and she knew she was a goner. They had first gone for her bad shoulder, ripping a large chunk from it with their malicious fangs, then torn into the rest of her body. The last thing she felt was blood pooling in her mouth as she gasped desperately for air…then it all started to fade away. She felt no_ more pain as her vision started to return to her.

She plunged her hand into the air, attempting to stab the mangey beast with her knife, when she realized there were no more dogs, there was no more Lexie, no planes, no trees, no rocks…she blinked a few times, trying to clear her eyes, but then remembered that this was the clearest her vision could get. She felt warmth suddenly, and someone lowering her extended limb. "That wore off quickly." _Oh, right._ She looked over at Owen blankly. _Say something, you idiot. Words. It's easy. You're thinking them right now._ "How're you feeling?" _A question-not a rhetorical question-one that requires an answer. Speak!_ She stared at him a moment longer before giving up and looking back at the ceiling. He massaged her hand lovingly. She wished she could thank him for being there with her.

"I need to dress the laceration on your forehead," he said finally, releasing her hand. She didn't even try this time, and continued staring at the ceiling. She could hear him gathering his supplies, and could feel him placing the gauze on her forehead. He started talking about her condition then, but her mind was elsewhere.

When she woke up, she was entirely lucid. She recollected everything from the crash, of course, but unfortunately, those memories also included her complete slip from reality. She remembered the coyote encounter being her breaking point. That's when she lost her grip. It came and went, she recalled, but the moments she lost herself were without a doubt the most mortifying in all her life. She remembered playing "baseball" with Seattle Presbyterian, she remembered talking to Lexie, she remembered believing Lexie was responding to her. She paused her thought process, collecting herself. It was all so _embarrassing_. She remembered drinking plane fuel, she remembered throwing it up, gaining back some sanity. She remembered having to drink her own pee to rehydrate herself. She remembered blacking out, which was on par with having a gun to her head in terms of how frightening it was. She remembered believing all of the people around her were _coyotes_ out to get her. She remembered questioning whether Owen was truly Owen. She remembered it all, and the more she thought about it, the more she shut herself down. She was formerly a brilliant, talented cardiothoracic fellow with full confidence that she would one day win a Harper Avery. Now, all she would be known for were the tragedies that resulted in her mental downfall. And on top of that, of all the things she _did_ remember, one thing she couldn't remember was how to fucking talk like a civilized human being. She was shutting down, and fast.

"The tendons were strained, but they should heal in due time." she caught the end of Hunt's summary, but mostly, all she could hear was the pounding in her chest. Hunt noticed, looking up at the BP monitor. "There's nothing to worry about. You'll be back in the O.R. in no time." She felt his lips on her forehead, and her heart fluttered. _That's what you think._ She glanced over at him briefly. _At least I've got you, for now._ What would he do when she never came out of this? How long would it take before he left her; before he gave up on her?

"Meredith." She heard the concern in his voice. She perked up. _Mer._

Soon enough Meredith was lying on the bed next to her, and Owen had left. Meredith mimicked her stance, staring at the ceiling. She wasted no time in getting to her point. "They're taking us home tomorrow on a plane." _Oh, so you can talk, but I can't?_ "And I said no planes, but we don't have a choice, because of Mark and Arizona." Her speech was rapid and raspy, making it hard for Cristina to understand. "So I told Bailey to just sedate us. _Sedate all of us_." She enunciated the last part to emphasize her point. She was silent for a moment, considering their predicament. "And we'll never know it happened. Right?" she looked at Cristina then, prompting Cristina to look back at her. The fact that Meredith turned her head was the primary reason she even knew to look. Her last words were in a whisper so soft, Cristina could barely tell she was even talking still. She just stared back blankly, just as she had Owen, not knowing what else to do. "Cristina?" Meredith grabbed her chin, and forced her head to the side. "Cristina," she said more urgently. What could she do? Apparently, she was a mute now. And a quadriplegic _. Awesome._

The plane ride did concern her, and if she had been in her right mind, she would've spoken up. She would've pleaded with Owen about it, but she wasn't in her right mind, and she couldn't speak up. Meredith dropped Cristina's head, and it bobbled back onto her pillow. What happens when she has a medical emergency? What happens when she goes into heart failure, or something, and she can't tell anybody? Hell, she couldn't even reach for the nurse's button. She couldn't explain _why_ she couldn't move. She couldn't explain _why_ she couldn't speak.She had gone through a list of every medical condition she could recall in her hazy, half-brained state, and she came up with _nothing._ They were calling it a "state." What, a state of mind? She wanted to talk! She wanted to move! She wanted to be able to use the restroom without a bag, so how was this a "state?"

Suddenly, she heard a nurse walk into her room. Meredith spoke quickly. "She's unresponsive. She won't talk to me. She barely even looked at me."

The nurse exhaled. "Honey, she's not interacting with anybody. She hasn't said a word since she got here."

"What? Why? She was fine when they found us. What the hell happened?" Meredith was frantic.

"Dr. Sheehan diagnosed it as reactive psychosis. Apparently it can happen to people when they've been through a trauma."

"So," Meredith looked Cristina in the eye. "She'll come out of it, right? I mean, she has to."

"Honestly, I've never seen one in my twenty-eight years of nursing, so I'm not too familiar with it. Do you want to talk to Dr. Sheehan?"

Meredith shook her head. "No, that's alright. Thanks." As soon as the nurse left, Meredith leaned to hover over Cristina. "Cristina, wake up." She jostled her left shoulder. "Come on, you have to wake up. Wake _up,_ " she said, more frantically than before. "This isn't a game. You have to wake up." She was shoving her now. _Don't you think I know that?_ The sight of Meredith hovering over her, demanding her consciousness forced a memory into Cristina's head.

 _"Mer?" She saw her friend gaze around aimlessly, obviously still not aware enough to know what had happened. That wasn't going to do for Cristina. The sky was FUCKING FALLING for God's sake. She had to snap out of it. "Meredith!" She gasped, helplessly looking around for help. "Meredith!" This time, Meredith seemed to regain some consciousness, her eyes growing and her mouth gaping as she realized she was in danger. "Get up! You have to get up now!" Cristina yanked on her arm with her one good arm. She still didn't budge. Cristina reached full-fledged panic mode, screaming relentlessly in Meredith's face, "Meredith, get up!"_

 _"Wake up! Wake up! Wake_ up! Wake up! Wake…


	26. It was Married Chastity

**Hello, all. I want to start by saying my computer is effectively useless at the moment. Somehow, my screen got cracked, and I can honestly say I have no earthly idea how. To make matters worse, the screen is a touch screen, so the computer thinks I'm touching it where the crack is, meaning I can't even so much as restart it. That being said, I'm currently giving you a chapter update from my work computer (don't tell anyone) and will have to do it this way likely for the next month or so.**

 **Regarding the story, these next few chapters are by no means my favorite chapters. Despite my best efforts, I could not write them to my satisfaction. That being said, I had to track Cristina's progress slowly. I didn't want it to go from completely catatonic to perfectly normal, talking, walking around Cristina, so just know that these little embarrassing snippets have a purpose. Hopefully, you all enjoy.**

Owen was darting around Cristina's hospital room, frantically gathering his files into a brief case. The MediVac was leaving in ten minutes, and he still had files strung out all over the room. He had spent the last 36 hours juggling Cristina's medical care and legal dealings with the crash. The last call had taken significantly longer than he expected, so he was rushed to make it on the chopper in time. He stuffed the last of the files into his bag, and rushed out the door.

Mark's condition improved significantly after his surgery. Turns out being a nonsmoker with excellent genetics really does pay off. He scheduled the MediVac to get there at 6:00 so they could be back in Seattle before dark. He looked at his phone: 5:58, it read. He raced up the stairs, taking two at a time, and arrived just in time to watch the chopper grow smaller and smaller as it headed west for Seattle. "Dammit," he screamed, unlocking his phone. He texted Richard: _Call me as soon as you land. Urgent._

He made his way down the steps and out of the hospital, cursing under his breath as he called for a taxi. He called five companies, growing more frustrated each time they told him it was "rush hour," and it would be at least an hour's wait. He had wasted twenty minutes outside the hospital, trying to get someone to show up in a reasonable amount of time, and finally, on the fifth phone call, he lost his temper and screamed, "No thanks, _I'll walk,_ " into the speaker before hanging up.

He looked around dejectedly, throwing his hands up, and started walking. It was about a two hour walk, so he would make it to the airport in less time than he would waiting on a taxi. As he headed in the direction of the airport, he started thinking about his staff.

Derek was surprisingly optimistic when Hunt visited, considering the last time he was given bad news about his career. Derek claimed it was the drugs, and Hunt feared he was right. He prayed for a miracle, not only for the sake of the man's career, but also for his own sake. If Derek could no longer operate, he would be out a world-class neurosurgeon. He decided that he would visit Derek first, effectively trading places with Meredith.

 _The wood door made a clacking sound as he knocked against it. "Have time for a visitor?"_

 _Derek smiled his trademark smile. "Well, I guess I have no choice, considering you're my boss."_

 _Owen chuckled. "Well, it wouldn't be a firing offense, but you'd definitely be out of my good graces." He sat in the chair next to Derek's bed. "The nurse tells me you're a pretty good patient. 'Perfect,' is the word she used, actually."_

 _Derek laughed weakly. "Yeah, it's the drugs. I'm a terrible patient." He pointed at Hunt. "You of all people know that."_

 _Hunt smiled, nodding in agreement. "Yeah." He stood then, taking a look at his chart. "Webber tells me your sodium levels are a little low still, but they should be up by day's end, by the looks of it." He looked up at Derek again. "I wanted to let you know we've arranged for a_ _MediVac_ _to come-"_

 _"Bailey came in and told us earlier," he interrupted. "Back in Seattle by 7:00 tomorrow, right?"_

 _Man, Bailey really did know everything. "That's the plan."_

 _The two men paused then, knowing exactly what the other was thinking about. "Oh, before I forget. How's Cristina doing?"_

 _Hunt nodded, accepting that everyone was going to want to know how Cristina was doing. Maybe if he said it enough times, he would get used to the idea. "Cristina's stable. They're calling her condition 'reactive psychosis.' She's wasn't responsive at all yesterday, but today she seems to be doing better."_

 _Derek furrowed his eyebrows. "Reactive psychosis? She was fine when they loaded us up. She was delirious, but we all were. In fact, she saved Meredith and myself from getting left behind." He waited thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. "What's her behavior like?"_

 _Hunt arched his eyebrows. That was interesting. She saved them from getting left? He hadn't heard that yet. "She, uh, well yesterday, she wouldn't acknowledge anybody or anything, she only reacted to touch, and she reacted violently." He scratched his head. "She wouldn't make eye contact and seemed only capable of using her arm. The rest of her body was deadweight. Today, she's moving her eyes a little; making eye contact."_

 _Derek shook his head. He raised his eyebrows, and his bottom lip jutted out. "That just doesn't make any sense. Because believe me, she was very responsive yesterday when we were rescued. She's a loud one, that one."_

 _Hunt laughed. "Yeah…yeah, she can be." His face took on the same look of acceptance as it had before. "It's not something I've ever dealt with first hand. It's a Psych thing, but they say it should resolve itself in a month, or less." He rolled his eyes then. "If I ever get a moment's grace, I plan on doing some research on it, but it's looking like time's going to be hard to come by in the upcoming weeks."_

 _Derek's lips curled into a half smile, lifting his injured arm. "I've got nothing but time. Give me two days, and I'll have all the research you could possibly need."_

 _Owen scrunched his eyebrows in surprise, nodding. "I'd appreciate that."_

 _"Well…honestly, Meredith's going to be a pill if we don't get her something concrete, so I'm doing it as much for you as I am myself. You'll have to remind me though. Y'know," he pointed at the IV in his arm, and the two men laughed._

Hunt snickered recalling the conversation. He had expected a much more volatile conversation, but Derek had surprised him. Sure, he still didn't know that Owen was the one who inadvertently put them on that plane, but he was enjoying the companionship while it lasted. He feared he and Derek would never have a good relationship, working or otherwise, once he found out. Nonetheless, he didn't doubt for a second that Derek's drug-induced confession about Meredith was true. He felt guilty that she found out the way that she did. He assumed Bailey had told them. Hell, she'd told them everything else under the sun, and he was sure Meredith asked about Cristina, so he was surprised to find Meredith with her knees on the bed, trying to shake Cristina into coherency when he walked back in to his wife's room.

 _"Wake up, Cristina. Wake up!" He put a hand on her shoulder, causing her to turn around, and shook his head. It was not the time for that. She slumped, tears filling her eyes._

 _"I don't know what to do," she squeaked out._

 _"We just have to give her time. You can't rush these things. It doesn't work that way," he said sympathetically._

 _Meredith turned back to look at Cristina. "She has to come through this. She did so much out there to just…and she's…we can't lose her is all I'm saying."_

 _Hunt nodded. "Believe me, I know. I-" he sighed. "I know." He tried to change the subject. "Hey, I ran into Bailey in the hallway, and she said Zola's looking for you."_

 _Meredith nodded, wiping a stray tear from her eye. "Right. Of course." She rose from the bed, and allowed Owen to help her back to her room._

She had come by before they shipped out, this time acting much more accepting of Cristina's condition. She had brought Zola by and sat and talked with her for several hours before they had to be back in their rooms for the pre-flight sedation.

Hunt couldn't help but shudder at the amount of pain he had caused with unquestionable negligence and one flick of the wrist. He tried to take his mind off of it, knowing he would be doing a lot of thinking and talking and dreading over it for the foreseeable future. He hadn't gotten a chance to talk to Arizona that day, as when he came to visit her, she had been resting. Early this morning, however, Dr. Sheehan had paged him regarding Arizona's scans. She had spiked a fever, and the scans showed what they had suspected: infection. Hunt shook his head, miserably. She had made it four days in the wilderness with a mangled leg, and Cristina, it seemed, tended to it adequately enough to prevent infection, according to her initial scans. They had managed for four days, and now, when they were in a sanitary, well-equipped facility, after she was supposedly 'out of the woods' so to speak, she develops an infection.

 _"The extensive bone injury, along with the degree of soft-tissue infection is…troubling," Dr. Sheehan said as the pair hovered over the scans, evaluating them intently. "No matter what we do, it's-"_

 _Hunt finished her sentence, solemnly. "if the infection goes to the bone, it'll be hard to treat._

 _She nodded, looking up at him. "And eventually, you're looking at bone loss." She looked back down at Arizona's scans. "I'm going to have to say…" she paused, searching the scans one more time. She nodded, resolutely. "Officially, I'm recommending amputation."_

 _Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a sliding curtain. They both turned to find that Arizona had managed to reach over in her weakened state and push the curtain back. She grunted in exhaustion from such a seemingly painless movement. She pointed at the scans, and said icily, "Show me those." Hunt hesitated, not wanting to unnecessarily upset her. She raised her voice, an agitated rasp prevalent as she spoke. "Show them to me." She leaned back in her bed, waiting for Hunt to comply. He begrudgingly took the scans from Sheehan and walked over to Arizona's bedside, handing them to her. She moved her eyes rapidly from Hunt to the scans, making multiple cycles before looking up at him and forcing her words out. "I withhold consent," she breathed heavily, speaking between breaths. "I withhold consent. Before you drug me or sedate me, I give n-'nobody' permission to cut off my leg." She paused, garnering the strength to force out her final say. "And certainly not some yahoo in Dump Truck, Idaho." Her voice grew softer then, pleading with Hunt. "I want to go home to Callie. She'll know what to do." She made one final plea. "Just take me home." She was choking up, urging herself not to cry._

 _Hunt looked at her, torn, but eventually agreed. "Okay," he said in a whisper. He knew she wasn't stable enough to travel now, like she had been the day before, but he said it again to reassure her. "Okay. The MediVac gets here at 6:00."_

 _"Thank you," she whispered nearly inaudibly._

 _Hunt gave her a quick smile, squeezed her hand, and walked out._

He knew the leg would have to be amputated, but she just wasn't going to accept that. _Maybe Callie can convince her_ , he thought, but he was not optimistic. She had a very long road ahead of her, longer than anyone else's, aside from Mark's, maybe. He thought back to Cristina, marveling in the miracle of her injuries. A laceration to the head, and a dislocated shoulder, when Lexie ended up trapped beneath the bottom half of a plane just one seat back? He thanked the heavens above for that stroke of luck.

That just left her psychological injuries. According to the statements the remaining three coherent survivors gave, Cristina stepped up as ring leader. He felt a mixture of pain, pride, and guilt as he read through them, each of them detailing her leadership. She allegedly was the only stable-minded one of the group in the initial hours following the crash. She initiated almost all of the procedures, improvising with what she had, and doing so successfully. Cristina pulled Meredith out of the way of falling debris immediately following the crash, performed a C-spine stabilization in the field using only a piece of particle board and electrical tape, used a belt and a shard of metal to stabilize Arizona's leg, carried Derek along with Meredith from the woods to the crash site, diagnosed a cardiac tamponade with nothing but her knowledge and her instincts to guide her, guided Meredith in a pericardiocentesis, singlehandedly dragged Mark over half a mile back to the main crash site, organized camp, dug maggots out of Arizona's leg, and cured Mark's arrhythmia, all with one good arm, no food, no water, no sleep, and a hell of a will to live.

 _After he walked Meredith back to her room, he walked swiftly back to Cristina, hoping she hadn't regressed from Meredith's breakdown._

 _He walked to find her exactly as he'd left her, staring blankly at the ceiling. He almost approached her, but thought better of it. He hoped she hadn't seen him. He wanted to try something._

 _Hunt walked to the cafeteria and picked out the most easily-swallowed, easily-digested foods he could find, and brought them back up to Cristina's room. The day before, they had had to feed her through a tube, as they couldn't get her to open her mouth, but she had progressed since then, and now it wasn't some nurse. It was him._

 _He approached cautiously, deciding to test the waters before setting the food in front of her, in case Meredith's panic attack had triggered her. "Hey," he said, walking toward the bed. She turned her head slowly, her face stoic and unchanging. It was a good sign, Hunt thought, that she had looked at him. He laid in Meredith's former spot, propped himself up on one elbow, and cradled the back of her neck, running his thumb up and down her cheek with the other. He was slightly elevated, not quite at eye level with her, so he knew she wasn't looking at him, as her eyes were locked dead ahead. "Cristina," he said softly. "Can you look at me?" he said a little louder, tenderness coating his voice. Slowly but surely, she moved her eyes to look up at him. He smiled warmly down on her. "I'd really like for you to try something for me." She continued to stare at him. "I brought some food up. I'm going to bring it over, and I want you to try to take a few bites." She lowered her eyes back down to his chest then. "Okay," he said, leaning down to kiss her temple._

 _Hunt first brought over the Styrofoam container of tomato soup, along with a spoon, a napkin, and a cup of water. He maneuvered her to a sitting position, pulled her bed table out, and set the water and soup on it. He sat across from her on the other side of the table, scooping out a spoonful of the hot, red soup. He held it over the cup, careful not to spill it. "Okay Cristina, you can do this. Open your mouth." She stared at him blankly, as she had been doing for a long while now. He watched as some of the soup dripped back into the cup. "Come on, Cristina. You're safe here. I'm here for you, and I need you to eat, okay?" She displayed no signs of letting up. He set the spoon back into the container. "Sweetheart," he said standing and moving to the other side of the bed where she sat. Bailey was nice enough to bring her hygiene products, including a brush and ponytail holders. He decided to utilize them then. He slowly and carefully brushed through layer after layer of black curls, speaking patiently to her. "If I can't get you to eat, we'll have to put you back on the feeding tube. I can't-I don't want that to happen, Cristina. I hate seeing you like this." He finished brushing her hair, and pulled it back, keeping it in place with an elastic holder. He went back around to the other side then, assessing his work. It was a little lopsided, but it served its purpose._

 _He returned to his former position across from her, gazing into her absent eyes for a moment. "As long as it takes, I'm here. Just keep trying." He scooped the soup into the spoon once more. "You don't have to open it all the way, just enough to eat." He waited patiently, watching for any movement in her lips. After a few moments, he placed the spoon back in the cup, and just sat. They sat like that for nearly an hour. Periodically, Owen would give her words of encouragement, but otherwise, they sat in silence, each of their eyes, boring into the others'._

 _Owen never took his eyes off of her, needing desperately for her to be able to be self-sufficient in this realm. Every other aspect of her care, he could take care of himself, but she had to do the eating and breathing on her own. He refused to stick that tube down her nose ever again. Truthfully, he had forced himself into the mindset that he was simply doting on her by helping her bathe, get dressed, and brush her hair, among other things. While he knew the circumstances were much more morbid than that, and he couldn't possibly imagine how humiliating and appalling this was for her, if she was even coherent enough to process it, imagining it that way helped him cope with the whole thing. Before all of the problems arose in their relationship, he had done that frequently. He would wash her hair when they showered together or would feed her bites of food while he was cooking or rub her feet after a long shift at the hospital. She was always too proud to admit that she liked it and always protested, but Owen could tell she enjoyed being taken care of. He smiled, remembering. That was one of many things he was looking forward to when she recovered. He wasn't even considering the possibility that she wouldn't want him back at this moment. He had to stay positive, for both of their sakes._

 _It happened in the blink of an eye, and Owen had to stare for a moment to ensure he was actually seeing what he thought he was seeing. Her lips had parted a mere fraction, but Owen could see black between her top and bottom rows of teeth, so it would suffice. He briefly looked at the monitors to make sure she hadn't just stroked out. Upon realizing that she was still stable, he quickly spooned out a portion of soup and slid the spoon through the gap. He had considered that even if she did ever open her mouth, she wouldn't be able to close it again, or swallow for that matter, and it turns out he had been right. Soon enough, he saw the red soup drip down her chin. "It's okay, it's okay," he soothed, more to himself than to her. He acted quickly, wiping up the drainage with a napkin. "Perfect," he told her. He filled the spoon less this time to avoid spilling it again, and set it against her teeth, not wanting to hold it in her mouth for an extended period of time, fearing her gag reflex. "Now try to close your mouth." It took a few minutes, but she eventually found the strength to slowly bite down on the tip of the spoon. "Good. Now open again," he said. She did immediately, and he slid the spoon in. She didn't need instruction at that point, almost as if the muscle memory had kicked in for her, and she bit down on the spoon again. Owen clumsily slid the spoon back out of her mouth, and watched for signs that she had swallowed the contents. At first he saw no movement. "Cristina, swallow," he said gently. He started to worry that he would have to make her spit it out, but then he saw the muscles in her throat contract. He smiled. "Thank God," he said, sighing._

 _It took an extensive amount of time, considering she could only take very small bites at a time, but eventually, they finished off everything Hunt had brought up. The feeling of relief that washed over him was euphoric. That was just one less thing to worry about, and it meant she had made significant progress already. After the last bite, he wiped the excess food from her lip, and smiled at her. "Thank you, Cristina. That is a huge weight off my shoulders." He cleaned up the containers and utensils, then positioned himself in the bed next to her once again. He had so much to do, but right then, all he wanted to do was be with her. He played with her hair absentmindedly, gliding his fingers along the soft strands, watching her eyelids start to droop. It was her kryptonite. She was out within ten minutes. He leaned over and pressed his lips to her head then, lingering; reveling in her peaceful sleeping form. He turned his eyes toward the ceiling then, and leaned his head on hers._

Progress was a beautiful thing.


	27. Property was Thus Appalled

**Greetings, readers. Thank you, as usual, for the reviews on the last chapter. I love hearing from you. Here's the newest chapter. Enjoy!**

"Ticket, please," the woman at the counter said unenthusiastically, holding out her hand.

"I need to buy a ticket, actually." Owen pulled out his wallet and began digging through his credit cards.

"Where to, sir?"

"Seattle." Owen set his card and ID on the counter, and waited. He looked at his reflection in the glass across the counter. His tie was pulled loose, and sat lopsided against his dress shirt. He could see sweat stains under his arms, and his red curls were pressed against his head from the walk over. He couldn't imagine how he looked to this woman.

"Next flight for Seattle leaves in 2 hours 41 minutes." Hunt nodded. She turned back to the computer screen, finalizing a few things before shifting her eyes back to Owen. "$174.21," she said, taking the card from the counter.

Owen felt his phone vibrate in his pocket as she handed him his cards back. "Thanks," he said grabbing his ticket and personal belongings, and heading toward security. "Webber. How did it go?"

"Fine. Everyone's fine, Hunt," Richard said in his characteristically calm voice. "I'm going to assume you have a good excuse for missing the plane?"

"I was in a phone meeting with the hospital's lawyers. They're trying to move quickly with everything, and they needed me to be available right then." He moved one step forward in the security check line, and grasped his head. "I'll explain more later, but right now, I need you to do something for me, something very important."

"Alright."

"Make sure they put Cristina on the surgical floor. Do _not_ let them put her in psych." Webber tried to interject. "No _, no._ I will admit her myself, if I see that it's necessary, but right now, I want her on the surgical floor. We're still watching her shoulder, so sending her up there wouldn't do anyone any good. Promise me, Richard." Silence. "Webber, promise me."

Finally, Hunt could hear him sigh from the other end. "Fine. We'll give it a few weeks, but you haven't seen her when you're not around. She tried to stab an intern with a loose needle when she woke up." Webber paused, reconsidering his promise to Hunt. "I don't want to see my best resident up there any more than you do, but you have to consider what's best for everyone, including her."

"If the time comes, I will make the call. You have my word." Hunt started to choke up. It was his biggest fear, but he couldn't be around all the time. What would happen if she actually hurt someone? Why in God's name was she regressing all of a sudden? "My flight leaves at 10, and I should be back at the hospital by 11:30. Is Meredith around?"

"She's awake. What do you need?"

"I need to speak with her." Hunt didn't want to reveal too much. It was a lot to ask of Meredith, but he wasn't there, and she was the only other one Cristina would respond to at the moment.

Hunt could hear mumbled shuffling, and he assumed Webber was walking. "I hope you know what you're doing."

There was a pause, and then, "Owen?"

"Meredith, how are you?"

There was another pause. Her voice came out frightened, but calm as she said, "Bailey told me they're going to have to admit Cristina to psych."

Hunt hurriedly assured her, "I just talked to Webber, and convinced him not to just yet. She just needs a little more time."

Meredith sighed in relief. "Okay…okay." She composed herself, and Hunt took this opportunity to ask her something.

"Meredith, I need you to do something for me. I know what you've been through, and I know it's a lot to ask, but-"

"Why isn't she talking? It's been two days. It isn't just shock at this point. She won't even…" Meredith trailed off.

"She's making progress, Meredith, and I can show you. Will you-I can't be there until 11:30, and I need you to do something for her, and you'll see that she's getting better."

Meredith perked up. "What is it?"

Hunt sighed, knowing how uncomfortable this was going to be for Meredith. "I need you to…feed her." Before Meredith could comment, he continued. "I managed to get her to eat earlier today. It took hours, but she managed." He paused, thinking. "It has to be soft foods, nothing she would have to chew, and…this morning, it took a while, so be patient."

"See, but that's what I'm saying. Why can't she do it herself? This isn't normal."

"I know. I know, but the reality is, right now, she can't." He shook his head. "Look, you're missing the point. She's making _progress._ Yesterday, we had to put a feeding tube down her nose, and today, she opened and closed her mouth, and swallowed. It doesn't seem like much, but it's something. It's all we can ask from her at the moment." His voice softened. "Meredith, _please._ You're the only other person she'll let near her. Please try to understand that she needs you."

"Okay, I'll try," Meredith said hesitantly.

Hunt threw his head back in relief. "Thank you. Now remember, nothing hard on the stomach, and nothing she has to chew. Soup worked best this morning, so if you can find that, use it."

"Okay, got it." She held her breath, fearing the answer to her next question. "Hunt?"

"Yeah."

"She's going to be okay, isn't she?"

"She is. Of _course_ she is. It's only been two days. She's going to be just fine


	28. Whereupon it Made this Threne

**Hello, readers. Thank you for the amazing reviews on the last chapter and your patience with me in getting this chapter out. My computer is still broken, and I don't like to take advantage of my work computer, if I can help it, so updates have been harder to get out lately. Hopefully, my computer will be fixed soon so things can go back to normal. In any case, enjoy this next installment.**

Cristina woke up slowly to the familiar hum of the hospital. She tried to jerk her arms, apparently an inherent reaction in her now, but found that she was restrained. _Why am I restrained again?_ she thought as she jerked her arms again. The panic started to set in then. _I can't speak. I can't sit up. I can barely move my mouth enough to eat, and now the one thing; the ONE thing I had the remotest amount of control over is strapped to a bed._ She started to tear up as she jerked violently again in her bed. _Why is this happening to me? Why can't I move? Why can't I talk? Where the hell is Owen?_ Then the images returned.

 _"And then the back of the plane it-it came off!"_

… _._

 _"Okay, do it," she said looking resolutely into Mark's eyes. He nodded and braced himself on her shoulder, straddling his legs to garner more leverage against the ground. He grunted and then…"AHH!"_

… _._

 _"My legs and pelvis are crushed," she said, each word interrupted with quick, heavy gasps. "And I can't feel my other arm, so I'm not sure it's even there anymore, and my chest feels like it's going to explode, so it's probably a massive…hemothorax,"_

… _._

 _"She knows it won't help," Lexie said, her voice small and weak._

… _._

 _She leaned into the pilot's pit, picked a pen from the cupholder to his right, stabbed him in the leg with it, and simply said, "I'm sorry," then strode out with the backpack._

… _._

 _"No," Meredith whispered, her eyes bulging from her head. "No!" she screamed, her face contorting in agony. She dropped to her knees and wailed then. She bawled uncontrollably for her sister._

… _._

 _"Cristina," she said, crying. "I think Derek is dead. He would've come for us by now. He definitely would've come for us by now."_

… _._

 _As Derek took a final step forward, he faltered and fell to the ground, unconscious. Meredith gasped, terrified. "Oh my god," Cristina uttered as they ran to him._

… _._

 _A muffled cry bellowed through the forest as she made the first puncture. "Please pass out. Please pass out."_

… _._

 _His body had gone limp, and his skin was deathly pale. "Mark?"_

… _._

 _With one swift push, Meredith broke through the pericardial sac, and blood began spewing out of the tube. Mark groaned in both immense pain and relief as the sac drained of the excess blood._

… _._

 _"Grab the flare gun!"_

 _"It's not working!"_

 _"Shoot it again!"_

 _"Give it to me."_

 _"Oh, my God! No, no! Come back!"_

 _Derek looked at the flare gun momentarily before hurling it into the woods._

… _._

 _"See, and I had planned on just killing him," Cristina grunted sarcastically, plunging her fingers down Mark's throat._

… _._

 _Her eyes widened. "Are those-"_

 _"Maggots," Cristina finished, shaking her head._

… _._

 _She could see the outline of a limb in one of their mouths, and her rage boiled over…She mustered the courage she needed, and ran screaming down the hill._

… _._

 _Cristina started to panic, fearing that as soon as she set eyes on one, the other would see it as an opportunity to pounce. As she pivoted from one to the other, she started to shake._

… _._

 _It seemed only fitting that Cristina take guidance from Lexie in that moment…She was back in Seattle, winning her hospital the game against Seattle Pres, and no one could convince her otherwise._

… _._

 _"Baseball…" she trailed off then, her knees crumpling beneath her._

… _._

 _"Seriously?" she asked him, her words beginning to slur. "Another effusion, Mark? We talked about this. Just because you lost Lexie doesn't mean you get to die on us. Man up."_

… _._

 _Suddenly, Mark gasped a huge gulp of air as cream-tinted, opaque liquid spewed out of the tube. "Okay, done."_

… _._

 _"I'm fine. I just gott-gotta find" she gulped, her voice a raspy whisper. "something to drink."_

… _._

 _"Urine?" Cristina nodded, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the plane._

 _"I had to convince myself it was lemonade." She sighed. "At least it wasn't plane fuel."_

… _._

 _"Oh my God!" She jumped to her feet, feeling a burst of energy overwhelm her. She ran directly under the plane and waved her good hand, screaming along with Arizona and Jerry._

… _._

 _"You can't leave them! You can't-" she gasped for air as the man restrained her wrists to the gurney. "leave them," she cried then. "Meredith!" she screamed, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Derek!"_

… _._

 _Her eyesight started to fade into blackness, and her hearing grew dimmer and dimmer by the second. What is happening to me? She wanted to panic; to blink; to speak, but she couldn't. Her body wouldn't let her. What the hell is happening?_

"Cristina." A familiar voice broke her from her trance. She could feel a small tear trickle down her cheek and onto her shoulder. Her arms, now bruised from her violent, repeated yanking on the restraints, slowed to a stop as she heard the wheels of an IV stand squeak nearer and nearer to her bed. Her vision hadn't improved since the day before, so she could only see the vague outlines of her room.

She felt the edge of her bed sink as Meredith's blurry face came into view above her. She looked over at Meredith with the only expression she could muster, the same blank expression she had given since she woke up in her deranged state nearly three days ago. _Mer, I don't know what's happening. Why am I restrained again? Where the hell is Owen? I can't take th-"_

"You attacked Shane," she said simply, matter-of-factly, pulling the bed table upright. _What? I-I-no I didn't! I would've remembered that. You're lying. You're-_ "When you woke up, you started to panic, and Shane was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. You grabbed a needle of Lidocaine from the instrument tray and flung it at him." She shook her head, and Cristina looked at the ceiling. _That's not possible. This is the first time I remember being awake. I would have remembered that!_

"I'm going to sit you up now," she said resolutely. Cristina felt the bed inch its way up and the view of her room change. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to scream. She wanted to do _something_ other than stare, but she couldn't. Meredith saw the slight change in Cristina's demeanor and sympathized. "The tray shouldn't have been there anyway. Shane should've known not to leave it unattended to begin with, and Jackson should've caught it." _Don't patronize me, Mer. I'm a grown-ass woman. I should've known not to throw loaded needles at interns…although, that does sound like something I'd do._

"Owen wants you to eat, so that's what we're going to do." Cristina saw the outline of a food cup on her bed table and started to thrash in her bed. _No, no, no, no. This is ridiculous! I-_ "Cristina, stop." Meredith spoke to her in her characteristically calm voice as Cristina jerked her head from left to right, her arms aching from the beating they were enduring. _No, YOU stop, Meredith! This is crossing a line, and you know it. Just-_ "They were going to send you to psych." Cristina stopped in her tracks. Meredith took the opportunity to hold her wrists down. She continued, out of breath. "They were going to send you to psych, but Owen stopped them, so you need to calm down and show everyone that you're normal, for Owen; for me; for Lexie _."_ Meredith released her wrists then, confident she would cooperate. _Mer, I-_ "You have to survive this, because I won't lose both of you."

 _Dammit._ She wanted to break down more than she ever had in her life. The irony didn't fail to escape her, that she could hold it together better than anyone she knew; that she rarely felt the _need_ to break down, but the one time that she physically couldn't, it was the only thing she wanted to do. Cristina looked at Meredith as a tear escaped and fell to the bed. Meredith knew Cristina wouldn't want her sympathy. It just wasn't their thing, sympathy. It didn't do anyone any good, so she looked Cristina in the eyes and nodded understandingly. "Okay," she said picking up the spoon. "Let's do this."

… _._

It took just short of an hour for Meredith and Cristina to finish eating, but once they did, they both felt quite accomplished. Meredith set the tray back in place on the side of the bed and laid down next to Cristina. She put her hands on her stomach and took a deep sigh. She turned her head toward Cristina briefly then looked back up at the ceiling. "Lexie's dead."

Cristina wished she could comfort her friend, but even if she could, she wouldn't know what to say. She had just lost her sister to a _plane crash_. How could anyone even respond to that? That feeling couldn't be soothed with words of condolences or hope or distraction. That was a hurt only time could heal. Nonetheless, Cristina turned her head toward Meredith and stared, trying to communicate in the best way she was capable of. _Meredith, you have to get out. You have to go to Boston and get the hell out of this glorified death camp before you end up like Lexie or O'Malley or Adams or Percy or any of the other countless victims of this God-forsaken place. Do not get stuck here and end up dead because I will come out of this eventually and I cannot live without you. You-_

"Grey?" Bailey's voice broke the silence as she entered the room. "Wh-" she huffed her annoyance. "What are you doing in here?" She extended the last syllable in her characteristic way as she grabbed a wheelchair and strode toward the bed. "You've been playing _Cast Away_ all week, and you think it's a good idea to be walking around like you're damn Wonder Woman." Meredith sat up and allowed Bailey to help her into the wheelchair. She pointed a finger at Meredith. "Don't move," she said sternly, making Meredith smile.

Bailey moved toward Cristina's IV and began replacing the bag. Meredith noticed the label on the bag read "Lorazepam." "A sedative, Bailey? She just woke up a few hours ago."

Bailey continued her task as she looked over her shoulder at Meredith. "And now she needs to sleep again. She stayed up for four days straight, Grey. If she's going to recover, she's going to have to sleep." Just as she was about to attach the last component, she stopped. "Don't move," she repeated to Meredith.

Meredith, amused, tilted her head up. "Where are you going?"

"I forgot the feeding tube." She was almost out the doorway when she heard Meredith respond.

"Don't worry about it." Bailey stopped in her tracks and looked at her, confused.

"Wh-" she exaggeratively questioned, then looked around the room to see the empty cartons of food and used utensils on the counter. She looked back at Meredith incredulously and shook her head. "I swear, you doctors are the worst patients. Doctors have nightmares about patients like you," she mumbled, reattaching the bag on Cristina's IV. She walked back over to Meredith's wheelchair and began turning it around. Before she had a chance, Meredith flashed a mischievous smile at Cristina and winked. The last thing Cristina heard before she drifted off was Bailey's dramatic berating. "I swear, if I come back in here in an hour and you're in here, I'm putting a seda…"


	29. For These Dead Birds Sigh a Prayer

**Hello, all. Thank you for sticking with me while my computer's out. I absolutely** _ **love**_ **this chapter. It is among my favorites. I hope you all do too.**

 _The plane ride was silent aside from the occasional *ding* for the seatbelt sign or announcement from the pilot. Everyone was on-edge._

 _Cristina looked over at Meredith and studied her calm, thoughtful expression. Meredith and Derek had been debating over their job offers in Boston, a debate that had grown increasingly more tense as of late. She had told her just before they boarded that she was going to Boston, but Cristina had her doubts. Cristina shook her head. As if there was even a question as to which she-they should choose. The Mer-Der duo had long been established, but she would always see Meredith as an individual far above Derek. Of course, she was Mer's person. She was supposed to think that._

 _Cristina's eyes wandered to Lexie, behind her. The poor girl had been through a lot during her time at Seattle Grace-Mercy West, particularly during and after the shooting. They all had, but leading up to the shooting, none of them could have boasted the most ideal growing ups. Cristina pursed her lips and tilted her head. She had, she supposed, if you don't count the whole dad-dying-before-your-eyes-before-you-reached-double-digits thing. She guessed having an alcoholic father would have been rough though._ I wonder if she's thinking about Mark, _she mused, contemplating the look of longing etched in Lexie's features._

 _Through the corners of her eyes, Cristina caught the sun reflecting off of Arizona's hair and though she couldn't see her face, she guessed it was wrenched in frustration and hurt. She had just watched one of her dearest friends die, and then Alex dropped the bombshell on her that he was choosing Hopkins, so as the entire hospital watched along, she gave the gossip hounds the show they were craving. She told Alex that he wasn't going to Boise because he no longer represented Seattle Grace-Mercy West, and that she would take his place, hence her unexpected attendance on this trip. Cristina looked down. The things that boy had put her through over the years._

 _It wasn't long until Cristina's lax gaze landed on Mark. Mark was, well…Mark, she supposed. Pretty laid-back, positive guy, despite it all. Aside from his completely conspicuous desire for Lexie and the drama that resulted, he didn't have a whole lot going on. Cristina shrugged._ So I guess not everyone's on-edge.

 _Then she considered her own personal struggles as of late. She couldn't remember a time when she had been so conflicted. She shrugged off the ache in her heart. Cristina couldn't bear the thought of leaving Owen, but it came down to "pig or cow," point blank. She was going to Mayo, and she was going to thrive. She was a Cardiothoracic goddess, after all._

 _She smiled contentedly, looking back down at her binder. She was practicing her signature, as she had done many times before._

 _Dr. Cristina Yang_

 _She shrugged, satisfied._ Not too bad for being on a plane, _she thought._ Wonder what this would look like…

 _Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery, Dr. Cristina Yang_

 _She smiled at that._ That has a nice ring to it. What about…

 _And the Harper Avery Award goes to Dr. Cristina Yang_

 _She giggled. She just couldn't help herself! She continued to doodle, writing names and titles down absentmindedly to pass the time._

 _Dr. Owen Hunt_

 _Chief of Surgery at Seattle Grace, Dr. Owen Hunt_

 _Dr. Cristina Hunt_

Woah, where did that last one come fr- _It was completely sudden. It happened seemingly in less than a second, but as soon as she heard it, she dove without looking back for the head of the cabin. Everything was a complete blur, but she could make out Lexie's blood-curdling screams as they grew fainter and fainter from her place on the cabin floor. She finally looked back only to bear witness to a horrific sight: sky; sky and Lexie's petite figure still strapped into her seat as she desperately clawed at the air, reaching for a hand that would never come._

 _Suddenly, the remaining piece of the aircraft tilted vertically and with nothing to grab ahold of aside from the thin knobs of carpet, Cristina started sliding backwards. "Meredith!" she screamed intensely. She crawled as fast and as hard as she could, her fingernails starting to bleed under the pressure, but between the vertical tilt and the air suction, it was no use._

 _"Cristina!" Meredith wailed, trying to reach for Cristina. She might have been able to reach her if not for the strong hold Derek had on Meredith's waist. "Cristina!" she bellowed again, her cheeks streaked with tears as she fought against Derek's hold to get to her._

 _Cristina cried hysterically as she felt her legs dangling from the back of the plane. She used every ounce of strength she had within her, but soon, she was hanging on by the tips of her fingers. In that moment, all she could think of was Owen._ Owen, I'm sorry, _she thought, as she lost her grip one finger at a time._ I was wrong. I was wrong to leave you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so- _just then her grip finally failed her and she began her descent to Earth. She screamed and grasped for her life, but fighting it was useless. This would be her legacy. Dr. Cristina Yang: prodigy, estranged wife, then death by plane crash._

 _The wind jolted her back and forth as she fell. She cried profusely. She cried for herself. She cried for Meredith. She cried for Owen. None of them deserved this. They were such good people, all of them. The wind pushed and pulled at her violently. She could see the ground from her peripheral vision, and she knew the end was near. Just before she hit the treetops, everything went black…_

 _Yet, she still felt the wind shake her wildly. She didn't understand until-_

"Cristina! Cristina, wake up! Wake the fuck up, Cristina! Do you hear me? You're safe! Just wake up!"

 _What the absolute hell?_ Cristina groggily opened her eyes and found utter relief in her surroundings. She was in her hospital room. She could gather that much. Slowly, her body stopped moving. She blinked several times before she could make out Owen's horrified features staring into her unmoving eyes.

"Cristina," he said urgently, holding her upright with his large arms, loosening his grip substantially. He readjusted himself, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and bringing the other to her cheeks, gently wiping away the moisture. "Hey," he said in a drawn-out whisper, soothingly stroking her hair back against her head. His eyes never left hers.

 _Owen, I was falling out of the plane! I couldn't stop and Meredith couldn't get to me and Lexie and-_

Her heart pounded like a hummingbird in her ears. Owen held her face in his hands as tears continued to fall out of her unresponsive eyes. With each one that fell, Owen's hand was there to wipe it away as he tried to console her. He softly placed his forehead against hers and in the quietest whisper he could muster, he assured her. "I've got you. Do you understand me? I've got you. You're okay."

 _I'm so sorry, Owen. I never should have left like that. If I had died, I-I-_

The tears were unrelenting. She couldn't control them as they fell onto Owen's warm, accepting fingertips. "Shh." Cristina felt his hand leave her face then and meet the other arm, wrapped securely around her torso. "I've got you." He rubbed slow, tender circles along her back. "It was a dream, honey. You're safe with me." Her face was buried in his shoulder, further hindering her vision, but she could smell his warm, earthy scent, and that was more than enough for her. "I promise."

After her heartbeat returned to normal and the tears finally ceased, she felt him release her from his hold and lay her back in the bed. _Owen please don't leave. Please, I need you to stay. I can't go back to sleep. I can't relive that again. I can't do THIS anymore! I just want it to stop!_

When she found that her wrists were unrestrained, she turned in the bed and thrust her arm out, trying to communicate in the best way she knew how. Owen, who was in the process of taking his sweaty shirt and shoes off, saw this reaction to his absence and widened his eyes. The shock was short-lived, however, and replaced with urgency to assure her that he wasn't going anywhere. With a half-unbuttoned shirt on, he enclosed her tiny hand within his own two and crouched to her level, bringing her hand to his lips. "I'm here," he said simply, tenderly, his lips never leaving her frail hand as she grasped his intertwined fingers with immense strength.

He placed her hand back on the bed as he finished off the remainder of his shirt buttons and removed both shoes. _Owen, what if I never come out of this? What if I can't get out of this-this state, or whatever the hell has taken over my body?_ A single tear escaped her eye again, encouraging another breakdown.

Her panic melted away as she saw Owen lift the blankets on her bed and climb underneath them next to her. She immediately took comfort in his warmth as he maneuvered his arm around her torso and cradled her body close to his. He kissed the crown of her head firmly and whispered sweetly into her hair, "I'm not going to leave you, Cristina." He pressed another firm kiss into her hair and looked into her eyes. "Do you hear me? I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."

Cristina couldn't do much, but she made as much of an effort as she could by clumsily slinging her arm over his waist, her best attempt to get closer to him. _I love you, Owen._

Owen got the gist and positioned her arm comfortably over his stomach, stopping to stroke her arm slowly, up and down. While she couldn't do much more, he could, and he did by pulling her as close as he could manage. "Try to go back to sleep. I'm here. Nothing can hurt you if I'm here, okay?" He sighed, exhaustedly. "You're safe."

She saw his blue eyes repeatedly disappear under his eyelids as he struggled to stay awake. Cristina couldn't possibly think of sleeping at that moment, even while encased tightly in Owen's embrace. "I love you, Cristina." His words were starting to run together, and his hold on her was starting to relax. _Go to sleep, Owen. Quit fighting it and go to sleep._ She made one final effort that took every ounce of strength within her to show her affection and shakily wrapped her draping arm around Owen's torso with as much vigor as she could manage. Owen opened his eyes then and smiled warmly. He kissed her lips tenderly. "I take that as 'I love you too.'" And with that, he buried himself deeper into the bed and unwillingly shut his eyes. It wasn't long until Cristina could distinguish the noticeably slow and shallow breaths of a comfortable slumber, causing her to sigh inwardly with relief. _We're all going to be fine,_ she told herself emphatically. _We're all going to be fine…_


	30. A Medical Dilemma

**Greetings, dear readers. Thank you so much for the reviews on the last chapter. I am getting my computer fixed this week, so updates should come more frequently from now on. This is another one of those chapters that requires you to excuse my blatant lack of medical knowledge. I am not a medical professional, so there are some things I, not to mention our dearly beloved Ms. Rhimes, cannot (or did not) explain, so again, I had to get a little creative. I hope you all enjoy despite the medical discrepancies.**

"Dr. Hunt, it's been twelve days. She has regained all of her motor skills, and her PET scans show completely normal brain activity. I'm going to once again _strongly_ suggest that we move her up to psych, immediately."

Cristina was lying on her side in her hospital bed as she had done for twelve days now, listening to Dr. Hurst give Owen his spiel for the fifth day in a row. Her breaths were even, her eyes, dead _. Just let him do it, Owen. Get me out of your hair, already_.

She could see the disgust on Owen's face at the doctor's suggestion. He scoffed and shrugged the man off. "If she's fully recovered, then under what pretenses do you feel she needs to be up in psych?"

Dr. Hurst, clearly agitated at this repetitive conversation, responded urgently, almost angrily, "Don't play dumb with me, Dr. Hunt. You and I both know what I meant."

Owen rolled his eyes. "This is ridiculous. I need to-"

"Has she spoken?"

"Dr. Hurst, respectfully, I am trying to run-"

"Has she gotten out of that bed?" His eyebrows were raised and he took a largely offensive stance. "Is she still having those episodes when she sleeps? Has she shown the slightest bit of emotion since she arrived?"

"In case you've forgotten, as her file states," Owen responded with agitation, slamming his index finger into the clipboard, "she did, in fact-"

Dr. Hurst crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "Dr. Hunt, you're kidding yourself. She's catatonic! If she had shown that kind of emotion-"

Owen looked at the man incredulously, an intimidating half-smile, half-scoff crossing his lips. " _If_? Are you insinuating that I'm _lying_ about the tears I distinctly felt on my hands?" Owen squared up to the doctor, taking a step closer to him. "Do you really have the balls to stand there and _speculate_ that I would do any less for my patient, no less my _wife,_ than give her the best care I can give? Is this what a _man_ does, Hurst?" The opposing doctors had attracted quite a crowd with their argument. "Does a _man_ berate his colleagues into doing his bidding by accusing him of neglect?"

Knowing that he had crossed a line, but unwilling to back down, Dr. Hurst met Owen's icy glare with a milder expression. "I'm simply requesting that you recognize the extent of her condition. If you'll just hear me out, you'll see that, though her physical condition has improved substantially, her psychological state is regressing. Things were looking up for a few days, correct? She began eating and moving her arms willingly, on her own accord-"

"She's still doing all of those things, Hurst." Owen spoke in a low, menacing voice as he challenged Dr. Hurst.

"Which means she is physically and mentally unaffected, but what troubles me is her psychological incapabilities. For a full week, she was able to express at least some emotion to you and to Meredith Grey, this I don't deny, but how long has it been since she's exhibited those behaviors?" Owen remained silent, continuing his stare down. "She's fully capable of getting out of bed, but she won't. She's fully capable of speaking, but she won't. Her brain is fully functioning. She can hear every word; see every detail, yet she remains completely mute and expressionless and has for five consecutive days." With every word, Owen's nostrils flared wider and wider. His knuckles were white against Cristina's file, which he gripped as a means of restraint. His eyes never faltered from Dr. Hurst's confident stare as he blocked out his opponents evidence. "She's suffering a psychotic break, which now presents itself as catatonia, this I'm sure you can agree with me on."

Owen gritted his teeth. "Catatonia presents itself in schizophrenic patients. Further, symptoms of psychosis consistently include violent behaviors, which Cristina hasn't displayed since her first day here."

Dr. Hurst heaved an exasperated sigh. "Yes, catatonia _most commonly_ presents itself in schizophrenic patients, and yes, psychosis symptoms _most commonly_ include violent behaviors, but you've been a doctor long enough to know that there are no absolutes in medicine, especially in psychiatry. If you would just give me three hours with her in psych, she will come out of it. I'm sure of it."

"I brought you onto this case for one reason and one reason only. You were supposed to tell me five days ago, _why_ she was still unresponsive. That's it, and I still haven't heard a reason."

Dr. Hurst lowered his head and paused. He knew why. He just needed to structure his argument so that Hunt would listen to him. "Does she still have episodes in her sleep?"

Owen's gaze transformed from one of boiling rage to one of blatant confusion. He answered Dr. Hurst with a simple "Yes."

Dr. Hurst nodded. "My official diagnosis is psychosis presented in the form of catatonia, brought on by extreme trauma and sleep deprivation." Owen quietly listened to Hurst's evaluation. "The lorazepam allows her to sleep, but each time she falls asleep, she assumedly relives the crash over and over again, causing restlessness, correct?"

Owen loosened his grip on Cristina's file. "That's our best understanding, yes."

"Mine as well," he said with a solemn nod. "As I'm sure you know, this is a problem for a number of reasons. Firstly, when she arrived in Boise, she hadn't slept, eaten, or taken in any fluids for four consecutive days. Even if she had drank water and managed to find a scrap of food here or there, the exhaustion would have been astronomical. The fact of the matter is, as often as she has to either rouse herself or be roused from sleep to escape her nightmares, she is still, twelve days later, severely sleep deprived, which leads me to my second point. It's my understanding that you have stayed up several nights with her after she's woken up from a nightmare because she refuses to go back to sleep, right?"

"We have been administering heavy doses of lorazepam to try and get her to sleep through the night, and in the beginning, we would sedate her a few hours after she would wake from the nightmares to try and get her to sleep again, but she would always stir the same way. We figured it was more productive to give the heavy doses from the get-go instead of sedating her more than once in a given night. She does sleep more with the higher dosage, up to six hours, in fact." Had he really been so blind; so stubborn as not to realize that she needed psychiatric help? Owen's face contorted in confusion again. There was still one thing he didn't understand. "Bu-Hold on. If she's getting even that much sleep, she shouldn't still be sleep deprived."

"My second point is twofold. The nightmares clearly had their effect on Cristina in the beginning, but not so much so that she would fear sleeping. She has now had twelve consecutive nights of repeated nightmares, causing her to become anxious at the thought of sleep. Sleep has become associated with nightmares for her now, causing her to fight it off as much as she can, which is why you've upped her dosage of lorazepam. Unfortunately, the problem doesn't stop there. Even though she gets more sleep with higher amounts of sedative, her sleep is restless and further, taxing to her central nervous system, preventing her from entering REM as she needs to in order to achieve an adequate amount of sleep. It's a catch-22."

Owen thoughtfully considered the doctor's prognosis. His own fear of psych had allowed him to see what he wanted to see. She was improving, so he simply deduced that she would continue improving and if she didn't, he would take action, but he had to give her time. The reality, however, was just what Dr. Hurst had said. She had improved as much physically and mentally as she was going to, but her psychological state had run aground after a mere fraction of improvement. "What would your treatment plan be?"

Dr. Hurst suddenly looked insecure, rubbing the back of his neck. He struggled with his words, trying to approach his argument with hope, but in truth, he knew Hunt would not like his answer, hope or no hope. He needed something absolute. "Lorazepam is the drug of choice in treating catatonia, which means we can cross one option off the list, given that it hasn't yielded many results in Cristina's case. At this point, we have a few options. We can go down the list of BZPs, particularly diazepam, oxazepam, and clonazepam. She may simply be resistant to BZPs. In that case, many studies have found that zolpidem yields excellent results as well. Between those four optio-"

"Wait." Owen held his hand to his head, organizing his thoughts. "Are you suggesting that we just throw these medications at the wall and see if they stick?"

Dr. Hurst shook his head adamantly. "Not at all. I've done a lot of research on this, and one of these _will_ almost assuredly work. You understand that I can't give you any absolute guarantees, but these are proven by clinical trial to have worked on catatonic patients; s _everely_ catatonic patients, I might add, far surpassing Cristina's condition."

"But we might have to pump her full of every one of these meds to get her there, right?" Owen crossed his arms over his chest.

Dr. Hurst shrugged. "It just depends. I tend to be a glass-half-full kind of guy, myself, so I like to remember that the odds are more in our favor that the first one we try will work."

Owen looked at the floor, dejectedly. "Psychiatry's never been my thing, so correct me if I'm wrong, but it's my understanding that you have to perform several trials on her with one drug, increasing the dosage each time she doesn't respond to it, until she's maxed out on that drug, then proceed to the next one. Am I right?"

Dr. Hurst nodded. "That is standard procedure, yes."

Owen nodded thoughtfully, staring at the floor. He was conflicted. He either took the risk of keeping her where she was, causing further regression, or sending her up to psych where they would keep her for months and simply experiment with drugs that could severely affect her brain chemistry. Catch-22 indeed. "Cristina's not a psychologically dysfunctional woman, never has been. Her coping skills aren't the best, I'll be the first to admit, but she's been through psychological hell in the last ten years, between suffering a miscarriage, being stranded at the altar, being strangled in her sleep by her boyfriend, performing heart surgery on her best friend's husband and Chief of Surgery with a literal gun to her head…" Owen paused, drawing in a breath. "and having an abortion…she has survived, and she will survive this, no experimental medications necessary. I appreciate your concern, but Cristina. Will. Overcome." Owen stared at Dr. Hurst determinedly. Owen walked around the psychiatrist then and into Cristina's room. Before he shut the door, he looked down at the floor and smiled. "She always does."

"I'm not giving up, Hunt," Dr. Hurst said as the door closed on him. Owen ignored his threats and made his way over to Cristina, who had the same blank expression as she had for twelve days. The difference was not in Cristina, but in Owen. In the midst of his debate with Dr. Hurst, he realized the true magnitude of the woman he married. Despite all of the tragedies she had endured and the setbacks that resulted, she had prevailed-and this time would be no different. With that realization at the forefront of his mind, he brushed her hair behind her ear and pressed his lips to her sunken cheek.

She tilted her eyes toward him, making him smile genuinely for the first time in a week. She reveled in that smile; committed it to memory, because she knew it wouldn't be long before the genuine smiles turned into half-hearted, pity smiles, and then smiles would be replaced altogether by looks of resentment for being married to what amounted to not much more than a vegetable. Meanwhile, she would waste away in this hospital, day after day, year after year, because this wasn't being left at the altar. This wasn't being strangled in her sleep. This wasn't even having a gun to her head while she performed heart surgery. This was beyond imagine. This was beyond her reach. This was beyond help. This was hell.

 _You were wrong._


	31. Fresh Air

**Hello, all. Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter. You guys are the best.**

 **Long story short on the computer, the company lied to me about the pricing and the amount of time it would take to get it fixed, so I sent it elsewhere. I should (pray God) have it back by the end of this month. Sorry for the false hope on sooner updates.**

 **Here's the next installment, which brings a level of excitement to the story that we haven't seen in awhile. Hopefully, you all enjoy it.**

Another five days passed, and with each day Cristina lay despondent in her bed, she became more and more convinced that she was destined for Fairfax. A mixture of guilt and comfort overwhelmed her in knowing that Owen would never let that happen.

Despite his chaotic position as Chief of Surgery, he made frequent visits to see her, at least twice each day, and his smile had yet to falter. He hadn't slept in his own bed in nearly a month, as he had to ensure Cristina slept adequately enough to spur her recovery. He came in each night he wasn't on-call looking tired and thin but was always so tender and attentive nonetheless.

Each night, the guilt further ate away at her. If she could tell him to go home; to leave her there to rot, she would. The small gestures she had once showed him in affection, she neither had the energy nor the immunity to show him now, but Owen never lost hope. What she lacked in her affections, he made up for tenfold, always holding her close as he relayed the events of his day.

Throughout these nights, she had discovered that Mark was in a coma and not likely to be revived, Arizona had lost her leg to infection, and Derek was recovering from surgery, details that Meredith, who had gone back to work two days prior, would not discuss with her. Meredith and her other co-residents spent their lunches with her, usually treating her as if she were completely normal. It was a part of her daily routine that always lifted her spirits.

Each night after a few hours of listening to Owen's uplifting monologue, he would sedate her and within minutes, she would be in the midst of a pack of coyotes or watching the light die from Lexie's eyes or shoveling the maggots burrowed in Arizona's leg. Each dream proved to end more morbidly than the last, resulting in a more exhaustive awakening.

What Cristina longed to understand was why her mind altered the endings of these events to be more frightening than they already were. Why did the coyotes always gruesomely rip her limb-from-limb instead of retreat, as they had done in the woods? Why did Lexie's eyes pool blood, then her entire body disintegrate into the ground after she died? Wasn't her crushed form; her pale complexion contrasted against her bloody lacerations enough? And why did the maggots pour out of Arizona's legs in magnanimous numbers, ultimately suffocating them all instead of remain the sparse dozen or so she realistically pulled out?

She always awoke to Owen's sweet assurances and tender embraces. The man never complained or acted inconvenienced. He would soothe her trembling form with warm circles along her back and repeated kisses in her hair until the next morning when he would inevitably have to get ready for work. It was the only part of the day that he showed his discontent, as he knew once he left her, she would be alone for hours before he could return.

On this particular morning, Cristina watched Owen as he put on his dirty scrubs and prepared to go to the locker room for his morning shower. He detailed his surgeries for the day, which he had already told her the night before, but Cristina didn't mind. His voice was a calming force in the demolished shipwreck of her life. Before walking out the door, Owen hovered over her body and framed her face with his warm, sturdy hands. He gazed lovingly into her eyes and smiled his signature, lopsided smile. A brief wave of emotion passed over her then, causing her to close her eyes. He rubbed sweet circles on her cheek with his thumb and leaned down to kiss her gently. "I'll bring you breakfast in a few hours," he whispered, his hands never leaving her face. He kissed her once more before standing up. "I love you, sweetheart," and then with a pained expression, he walked out the door, leaving her with her thoughts, of which she only had one.

 _I know…and I wish you didn't have to._

The day carried on as usual. Meredith and the others visited her at lunch, and Bailey came in several times to monitor her vitals which, as usual, were completely normal. Everything was normal, so why wasn't she? _What happened to me?_ she thought in her solitude. _What have I become?_

"Now, she's like an end table," she heard new intern Shane Ross sarcastically snicker as he answered her unspoken question from the other side of her window.

She had learned to ignore the stares and whispers from the other side of her window over the past seventeen days, but Ross' comment had piqued her interest. He had voiced what she knew everyone in the hospital thought of her, that she was crazy; that she was broken; that her "legend" status had transformed from cardiothoracic prodigy to despondent psychopath.

Something did break inside of her in that moment, and with it the stimulus of her sanity; her will to live; to be _her_ again, no matter what it took. She stared at the colorful flower arrangement in an equally colorful vase on her bedside table. The interns' mockery still echoed through her open doorway, and she felt anger, _true_ anger for the first time in nearly a month. It was a liberating feeling, one that had been building its way up for a long time…one that she had to get _out_.

 _LIKE HELL!_ And with that, in the blink of an eye, she swiftly reached out, gripped the yellow vase, and the rage fueled her strength as she flung the arrangement against the window, prompting a series of sudden gasps and panic-induced conversations.

She turned over, knowing the outcome of her actions. Within seconds, three nurses were at her bedside, cuffing her limbs to the bed once again, but Cristina didn't care. _Speak!_ she told herself. She opened her mouth as she was roughly restrained, but nothing came out. _Speak, dammit! Speak!_ Suddenly, her eyes drifted to the doorway where her coworkers had started to gather.

"What the hell happened here?" Bailey exclaimed, rushing through the doorway. She pointed her clipboard at the nurse. "You'd better get her out of those before the Chief sees and you lose your damn job."

The nurse looked at her coldly. "She threw that vase at the window. She's a threat, Dr. Bailey. I'm just following protocol."

Bailey looked at her incredulously and scoffed, then looked down at Cristina, who just wanted to squeak out one coherent word. _Bailey!_ she tried to say, but all that came out were tiny, almost cough-like gasps. Bailey put her hand on the bed. "Yang, they're not going to take you. Do you understand me? Dr. Hunt's on his way. You're staying right here." Bailey promptly looked away then, nervously eyeing the door for potential threats.

Cristina's breath slowed as Bailey guarded her bed. Nobody fucked with the Nazi. She was in good hands. It wasn't long before Dr. Hurst appeared in her doorway. Bailey stared at him with steady, menacing eyes as a tiger protecting her cub. Dr. Hurst met her stare for a moment before announcing, "I need everyone out of this room, you included, Dr. Bailey."

Bailey's eyes never faltered. "You touch her, and I'll end your career."

Dr. Hurst raised his hands in submission. "Hold fire. It's just a security measure. I'm leaving too."

Bailey lifted herself from the bed, turned, and gave Cristina a sharp nod of assurance before turning back to Dr. Hurst. "Mhm," she murmured skeptically as she walked out of the room, watching his every move.

Cristina turned her head then, away from the judgmental stares burning a hole in the back of her head. _Okay Yang, focus. Just one word. One…_ she tried again to squeak out even a sound, but something in her mind told her "no." _Dammit! What the hell do I have to do?_ Tears streamed down her face as she gripped her sheets. _What do you want from me, brain? I'm here! I'm ready! I'm-_

"I said no more damn restraints!" Owen's bellowing hysterics broke her from her thoughts as he approached her bedroom.

A clear proponent of her transfer to psych, Dr. Hurst hurled his words at Owen aggressively. "She's _clearly_ a danger." He fumbled his words. "She doesn't even belong on this floor! She is violent, uncommunicative, an-"

Bailey cut him off. "Oh, she communicated. She just hasn't talked yet." _Damn straight I did._

Dr. Hurst grew frustrated, his response fueled by seventeen days of denial. "Look, there's _nothing_ physically wrong with her. She belongs up in psych."

The conversation settled in that moment, as Owen knew that Dr. Hurst couldn't do anything about it as long as he was in Cristina's corner. "I am the Chief of Surgery, and her husband. Don't tell me where she belongs."

"Well with all due respect, sir, that's exactly why you shouldn't be making this decision!"

 _Looney bin junkies are the worst,_ Cristina thought as the hallway settled back to its normal buzz.

"Okay." A hand brushed her hair back as her heart rate settled. Cristina turned her head as Meredith spoke. "Okay, it's time." _Yeah, I know._ "It's time to get up." Cristina's eyes settled on Meredith then, who spoke in hushed yet urgent tones. "They are going to take you upstairs, and they're going to pump you full of antipsychotics, and you're going to go slack-jawed and cuckoo's nest, and you'll never be you again." _I'm there, Meredith. I'm there. I'm there. I'm there._ "Cristina, please, I am begging you. _Please_. You have to say something." _I'm ready. Why can't I just-_ "Cristina, _please._ " A raging fire burned inside of her as Meredith pleaded with her. "Do you _hear_ me?" _Yes, I hear you! I'm tr-_ "Say something, _please!"_

Just then, several male nurses in dark green scrubs walked through the door. "Dr. Grey, we'll take it from here." Meredith turned and lifted her chin, refusing to move.

"Dr. _Grey._ " Dr. Hurst calmly walked through the door in that moment. "As your superior, I am ordering you to step away from the bed." Meredith met his stare with an equally calm one, not budging an inch. "Insubordination is a serious offense, Dr. Grey, one that my colleagues up at Harvard won't take too lightly." His threats only served to drive her feet further into the ground. He stepped closer to Meredith. "I have _direct_ orders from the board to transfer Dr. Yang up to psych, and unlike you, I _follow_ my direct orders." He nodded toward the nurses, who then pushed passed Meredith to prepare Cristina for the transfer.

Dr. Hurst thrust the papers in Meredith's direction. She read over them as the nurses began to wheel Cristina out. She glared up at him ferociously. "You will pay for this, Hurst. Your _career_ will pay for this."

Dr. Hurst simply turned to direct his nurses when Owen stopped them all dead in their tracks, wide-eyed and angry. "Dr. Hunt, I've been instructed directly from the-"

"I signed an AMA," he said through gritted teeth. Mouth agape, Dr. Hurst read through the form Owen had pushed into his chest as Owen wheeled the bed back into the room.

"This is unethical Hunt, and you know it. You can't do this!" Dr. Hurst's words came out in loud bellows as he watched Owen uncuff Cristina from the bed.

Owen turned briefly from his task to confront Dr. Hurst. "But I did. Now I suggest you get the fuck out of this room before we both lose our licenses." Dr. Hurst shook his head and stalked out of the room, defeated. Owen then turned his attention back to Cristina, whose eyes were red and puffy and clouded with tears. Upon releasing the last cuff, he cupped her face and pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm taking you home." He gazed into her tear-filled eyes as he felt a hand press firmly against his cheek, taking him by surprise.

 _Owen, I love you. I'm trying so hard to get better, but I can't. I can't get out. I can't get out._

Never breaking his hold on her, he enveloped his hand around hers and brought it to his lips. "I've got you, Cristina." A silent tear rolled down her cheek, which he gently brushed away with his thumb. "I've got you. I promise."

He then cradled her body to his chest and set her in the wheelchair next to her bed. Meredith smiled half-heartedly from the doorway, hoping Hunt had made the right decision. As she finally breathed fresh air for the first time in seventeen days, she heaved a heavy gasp. Owen stopped in his tracks and looked down on Cristina, concerned. Her eyes were wide and expressive, but her face gave nothing else away. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

She reached her hand behind her and touched his fingers, assuring him.

 _Take me home, Owen._


	32. The Prophetic Dream

**Happy New Year to you all. Thank you for being patient with this update, and as always, thank you** _ **so much**_ **for the reviews.**

 **Okay, this time, I'm not bluffing. More genuine words have never been spoken when I say that I have my** _ **fixed**_ **computer in my possession and therefore, will be able to give you more frequent updates. As a New Year's "resolution," I've set aside a time once per week where I will turn everything off and simply write for a few hours. I have come too far in this story to back out now, so you will get the ending you deserve when that time comes. Enjoy this next installment.**

As Owen drove to the firehouse, he wasn't concerned with anything other than figuring out how he was going to take care of Cristina at home and continue to be Chief of Surgery. _I could hire someone to-_ He laughed at this thought. That would undeniably end in a lawsuit. _Maybe my mother could come and…no, that's a lot to ask._ When he turned the corner and could see the firehouse up ahead, he realized how ridiculous he was being. _I can take a few days off of work. The hospital won't fall to pieces without me._ He pulled into their driveway and put his truck in park. _Webber's got this under control until I can figure something out._

He had been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed Cristina watching him throughout the ride _. He's never this quiet_ , she thought running her fingers slowly up and down her legs _. Dammit, I wish I could figure out what's going through his head._ She watched his eyebrows scrunch not in frustration, but as if he were intensely concentrated _._ Something in the road caught her eye and she slowly turned her head to see Lexie's mangled limb clamped between the jaws of a vicious coyote. Cristina shut her eyes in abject horror and sucked in a small gasp. _Why?_ She turned her eyes back to Owen in an attempt to rid her mind of these horrific images. _Why won't they go away?_ She kept her eyes on Owen for the rest of the ride, adamant not to have an emotional breakdown in the middle of traffic.

When they arrived back at the firehouse, Owen looked over at Cristina and smiled calmly. He didn't say a word as he walked around to her side and lifted her into his arms, prompting her to wrap her arms around his neck. She shielded her face from the world around her by burying her face in Owen's shoulder. When he flicked the light on upon entering the house, Cristina felt a rush of familiarity and security, something she hadn't felt in a long time. There were no coyotes, no dilapidated planes, no birch trees, just Owen and the safe, warm home they had built together. He felt her relax in his arms and he knew right then that he had not made a mistake; that what she needed was home. He kissed her temple tenderly. "Do you want to go out on the balcony? Get some fresh air?"

She looked up at him and shook her head, surprising Owen. As he stared at her, trying to absorb what had just happened, Cristina gently pushed against him, trying to break from his hold. "Cristina," he said worriedly, but allowed her to stand on her own.

 _I can't go outside, Owen._ She held onto his shoulder as he supported her under her waist, allowing her to lead him where she wanted to go. _They'll come back if I do._ She walked steadily toward the couch while Owen watched on in awe. She allowed her knees to collapse when she made it to the couch, landing on the edge where she could rest her head.

Owen let go of her slowly, hesitantly, watching as she pulled her legs onto the couch and positioned her hands under her head on the armrest. After the shock had subsided, Owen felt a wave of relief and pride rush through him as he gently peeled her head away from the armrest and positioned himself underneath her, replacing her head in his lap. He felt her sigh contentedly beneath him as she slid the rest of her body further down the couch to accommodate its newest occupant.

Owen removed her hair from under her neck and began brushing through it, not saying a word. Cristina wasn't one for verbal affirmation, this he knew, so he simply stroked her hair and listened to her ragged breathing slow to a soothing, steady in…and out…In an attempt to produce some normalcy, Owen grabbed the remote with his free hand and flicked on the TV. The noise, while not overtly loud or alarming, was an unexpected disruption from the silence, and made Cristina flinch. "Shh," Owen soothed, moving his hand to her back. "Sorry. I should've warned you," he said calmly, reaching under her hair to rub her neck.

While alarmed by the TV, Cristina was in no way stressed or tense as Owen worked his way up and down her neck and through her hair. She had not felt this level of peace in a long time. In fact, Owen's hands were working her into a deep…sleepy…state…

 _As her physical strength returned to her, so did her senses. She jerked her head up in a panic._ A plane crash. A freaking PLANE CRASH?! A PLANE crash. _She quickly tried to swing her hands underneath her to push herself up, but a stabbing pain shot through her left arm as she did so. She cried out, fear outlining her features as she attempted to assess her surroundings. After collecting herself, she used her right arm to push herself onto her back, giving her much more lung capacity to breath._

 _Her hearing returned abruptly, causing her to cry out in horror as she heard a woman wailing close by. She heard flames cracking each time she felt the wind brush her body, and plane debris making loud thuds on the ground as it continued to fall from the sky. The sky was literally falling._

 _Suddenly, it occurred to her. That wasn't just any woman. That was Arizona Robbins. She turned her head in the direction of the screaming, and saw only Robbins' torso. Her lower body was blanketed by the airliner's wing. Cristina's senses returned fully to her then as she pushed her body up with her right arm. She headed in the direction of Arizona when she looked up to see a piece of debris plummeting toward the ground. She looked directly to her right and found a possibly-dazed-possibly-dead Meredith directly in its path._

 _"Meredith," she whispered as she bent down to pull her out of the way. She found that when she tried to grasp Meredith, her hands went straight through her. "What the hell?" she exclaimed trying again. She looked toward the sky to see that the debris was getting nearer and nearer with each second. She began to whimper in panic as she tried to grasp any part of Meredith that she could latch on to. "Meredith wake up! Wake up!" she screamed, but as she looked at her hands, she could see that they were outlined in a faint glow. She tried pushing and pulling, screaming in Meredith's ear all the while. "Wake up! Wake up!"_

 _She looked up again to see that the shard of metal was directly upon them. She shielded herself from the metal and squeezed her eyes shut. She heard the noise of metal embedding into skin and heard a gasp from underneath her. "How the hell…" she hesitantly opened her eyes and looked down to a horrifying sight. Meredith's eyes were wide and her mouth agape, blood dribbling out of the corner. "No, no, no, no, NO!" Cristina cried as she tried to apply pressure to the wound in her stomach. Her hands continued to pass right through Meredith as the color in her face started to fade. Words were replaced with short, ragged breaths. "Stay with me Mer, just…" then she took one last breath and everything went still. "No," Cristina whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "Meredith." She tried to start chest compressions, but her hands fell through her each time. Her frustrations grew to unimaginable heights as she grasped her hair. "NO!"_

 _As she lifted her head, trying to figure out what the hell had happened to her; to them, she saw an equally horrifying sight. There, just a foot away, laid her own body, pale and lifeless, her shoulder ripped from its socket causing her arm to dangle by a mere thread. Her breaths grew more shallow and panicked as she stood and backed away, her hand gripping her shoulder with immense force. As she backed further and further from her disheveled body, she bumped into something behind her. She turned. "Meredith?" She turned and looked at the lifeless form on the ground then back at the standing form. "What is going on? Where are we? Why are you…"_

 _Meredith shook her head, causing Cristina's voice to halt. "Don't fight it. You'll never beat it."_

 _Cristina took hold of Meredith's shoulders and shook. "What are you talking about?" She heard growling from behind her and turned to see the coyotes nearing in on their bodies. She grabbed Meredith's hand and pulled as hard as her body would allow. "Meredith, move! We have to get out of here! We have to-"_

 _"We can't get out, Cristina. We can't get out. We can't…"_

"Cristina," she heard his voice before she opened her eyes, and she relaxed. "It's a dream, Cristina. It's not real." She opened her eyes then and peered into his striking blue orbs which were looking back into hers sorrowfully. She was sitting up, her legs in his lap and her body clenched tight against his. After nearly three weeks' worth of nightmares, Owen had become accustomed to rousing her from her dreams and did not panic as he had before. He rubbed his arm up and down hers slowly, soothingly. "You're not there anymore. You're here, with me, okay?"

She nodded slowly, prompting him to pull her into his chest tightly and rock her back and forth. _Meredith was right,_ she thought as Owen brought her back to reality. _There's no escape, is there?_ Owen whispered sweet words in her ear as the tears streamed down her face. She let out a faint whimper as he clutched her even tighter, assuring her that all was okay. It didn't take long for her to settle herself down, prompting Owen to loosen his hold. They shared a long, worried look before Owen nodded, confident that she was calmed enough. "Why don't we go clean up and get something to eat?"

Cristina broke their stare and fixed her gaze on the lamp beside her. She nodded, dejected by her most recent relapse. "Do you want to walk?" She nodded again, shifting her legs from Owen's lap and allowing him to help her stand up. Her leg muscles were weak, but with Owen's hand stabilizing her by her elbow, she managed to climb the stairs, one slow step at a time.

By the time she reached the top, her legs were shaking and her brow drenched in sweat. Owen looked at her concerned, but she wouldn't meet his gaze. He slid his arm around her waist when she looked like she might collapse, and led her into the bathroom. As he sat her on the toilet and started drawing the bath, Cristina watched with dead eyes. He smiled, but she offered no response in return.

 _Meredith was right._ She turned her head, unable to bear the optimism in Owen's faithful eyes. _Meredith was right._


	33. Get Out

**Good morning, Crowen fans. Thank you all for the reviews. They keep me going.**

 **Here is the next installment, and as promised, it didn't take two weeks to get here. Hope you all enjoy.**

Her episode just moments ago led Owen to the conclusion that working just wasn't an option right now. He knew there would be bounteous amounts of paperwork and judgement to deal with, but he couldn't think of that now. He had to focus on her recovery. In the mere hours since they had been home, Cristina had shown astronomical improvement, and he couldn't let her regress. A rush of guilt pervaded his conscience. Had this been what she needed all along? Just to come home; to not be surrounded by doctors and needles and stares? He should've known not to let her stay in that hospital for so long, but his job was just so demanding he…he didn't have an excuse. She needed him, and he let her down.

When the bathtub had filled, he rose and walked over to her, hoping for some sort of reaction. She looked up at him, her face void of any expression. He smiled lopsidedly and offered his hand. She looked forward once again as he lifted her from her seat on the toilet and draped her arms over his shoulders. While he undressed her, Cristina looked over his shoulder out the small window. It was dark outside, but she could see the bright yellow, beady eyes and snarling teeth of a coyote, and she flinched, pushing her head down onto Owen's shoulder.

"Okay." Owen noticed her abrupt movement and assumed the stress on her legs had been too much for one day. "Okay, c'mon," he whispered, picking her up and placing her gently in the tub. She sat upright, her hands white-knuckling the tub, her eyes cautiously scanning the room for potential intruders. She felt Owen's hand gently press against her back, prompting her to lean forward in the tub and she relaxed, allowing her head to droop and stare into her reflection in the water. Her face looked fuller than it had the last time she had looked in a mirror and her color was returning. She looked…she looked like herself.

She felt a warm sponge graze her shoulder as Owen pushed her hair aside. She could feel his breath on her back as he spoke to her with quiet care. "I'm going to take a leave of absence," he said, softly caressing her back. She listened to his tender voice, too exhausted and too comfortable to fully absorb the guilt that rested in her gut. "I think three years ago, I said I was going to figure out how to make great roast chicken." His delicate strokes against her back were lulling her into a state of serenity and merely the sound of his voice was enough to make her forget all of the trauma, if just for a moment. He scoffed then. "Still haven't done it." He chuckled, moving to her other shoulder. "I just like how a house smells when there's a chicken in the oven."

Owen was trying to give Cristina a sense of warmth; to show her that he was here and that he was going to give her whatever she needed to recover. She seemed to have made so much progress today, and he couldn't help but be afraid that her vapid eyes had indicated a relapse after such a short period of time. He sighed, changing the subject to one that he had yet to approach, fearing her reaction, but her progress today encouraged him, making him believe she might respond to it. He took in a deep sigh and returned to his ministrations on her torso. "You're going to feel stronger in a couple of days or weeks," he said comfortingly. "It takes as long as it takes." Cristina closed her eyes, relishing in his warm, pacifying touch. "And we have all the time in the world."

He rinsed the sponge in the warm bathwater and continued to nurture her broken spirit. "When you're back on your feet, you'll go back to work at whatever pace you want." This piqued Cristina's interest. She hadn't thought about work in weeks. "You'll go back into the O.R., and you can do your magic." His hand drew back as he leaned further over her form, emphasizing his words, his voice as low and even as the moment she had arrived home. "You won't have to deal with patients or families." He paused, his voice quieting to a tender whisper. "I'll take care of all of that."

Owen stroked her hair for a moment, his brow slumping in defeat. How could he get through to her? How could he better support her? He had said it himself. _It takes as long as it takes._

Cristina, meanwhile, couldn't take it any longer. Owen's words had done more than he knew. She had been despondent for so long that she had lost sight of the end goal. Of _course_ she wanted to get back into the O.R., but her body wouldn't cooperate. She felt tears sting her eyes, but she held them back, willing herself to just focus on Owen, her faithful supporter. "You ready to get out now?"

 _Get out,_ she thought, frustration rising to the surface. _Get out_ …she scoffed internally. _I can't get out, Owen. I can't. I-I'm STUCK in this bizarre limbo and I can't get out. I CAN'T get out. I CAN'T GET OUT! I CAN'T GET OUT! I CAN'T GET OUT!_

"I can't."

The rustling of the towel ceased as Owen, stunned, prompted her to say more. "What?" he said simply, completely awestruck.

She maneuvered her body to relax against the back of the tub. She could hear her heart racing in her ear as she prompted herself. _MORE! SAY MORE, IDIOT!_ Her gaze remained fixed on the tub as she elaborated in a choppy, weak voice. "I can't get out."

Owen, momentarily frozen, tried to find meaning in her words. "Are you-" His senses returned to him then as he rushed toward the tub. "You can. I'll-I'll help you." He braced himself on the tub, his eyes watching her with intense curiosity in what she would say next.

Cristina finally found her voice then and wanted to tell him _everything_ she had been dying to say for the last three weeks, but she had to explain first. After taking a few silent moments to gather her strength, she spoke. "I stayed awake for four days." Owen shifted slightly from his spot next to her, but never dropped his eyes. "I remember…every single minute of those four days." Her voice turned bitter then, but her body remained fixed as she clutched the tub. She lifted her eyes, remembering. "The fire went out. It was really, really dark. There were so many stars."

Her voice barely a whisper, she continued. "I remember getting the bugs out of Arizona's leg." Owen listened with apt attention as he shifted himself in front of her. "I put leaves on it, trying to keep them out…and Mark," she said, frustration crossing her face. "Mark just kept _dying._ It was so annoying. I kept trying to help him, but he just kept trying to die on me." Her voice grow somber again. "I just wanted to lie down and sleep on him because he was warm, and I wanted to sleep."

She could see from the corner of her eye that Owen was puzzled; mesmerized. "Meredith was asleep. Everyone was asleep." The words spewed out of her mouth like venom. She hadn't realized how resentful she still was of her companions. "Arizona got the last of the water, and I remember drinking something…" her face twisted in remembrance. "bad…it might have been fuel from the plane? I drank…" Her face continued to contort as she relayed the events to Owen, who sat vigilant, hanging on her every word. "my pee."

Her voice faltered then as she remembered the coyotes. "The noises." Her breaths became ragged then. "The animal noises, fighting and growling right _next_ to us; _right there._ " She gulped, the images returning to her. "I kept waiting for them to come and kill me, but they didn't." Lexie's pale, limp arm appeared in the bathtub, but she pressed on. "And then I realized…they were fighting over Lexie." Coyotes hovered around the bathtub, snarling, watching their every move. "I tried to keep them off of her. I tried." She fought against her instincts to hurl the sponge at the coyotes, forcing herself to understand that they weren't real. "But I couldn't get out." Tears threatened to spill out of her eyes, but she found her composure. "I can't get out."

Owen shook his head passionately, trying to make her understand. "You're out now," he said emphatically, rising from his place on the floor to assure her. "I've _got_ you," he insisted, pressing a firm kiss against her temple. "Do you hear me?" He nuzzled his face into her hair, enforcing his presence; his support; his undying love.

He would've stayed like that forever had she not spoken again. "I can't get out," she repeated, more meekly than before. He drew back slightly, prompting her to look up at him. "Don't you see? I'll never get out."


	34. Important Information

My dearest readers,

I have several things to apologize for. Firstly, I'm so sorry for taking so long to update you on the status of this story. I mean it when I say I fully intended to update you all sooner. Secondly, I regret to inform you that I'm going to have to take a brief hiatus in light of recent personal events. My father unexpectedly passed away last month, and frankly, I am devastated. Because of this, I am going to take a short break from this story to give myself time to get accustomed to this new normal. That being said, rest assured, _I have a plan!_

Fear not, dear readers, I will make good on my promise to give you the ending you deserve (to be clear, we're nowhere near the ending, but I digress...). One month from today, Monday March 11, I will update again and will continue weekly (barring any other familial disasters) until the story is finished. Please understand that I do this for the good of the story as much as for any other reason. Anything I write in this mindset will not meet the standards you've come to expect from me, so I hope you will be forgiving.

Thank you for all of your support through this story, and I hope you will come back to see it through when I return in March.

All my love,

Judababy


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